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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27243067">Remnants of a Burnt Child</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeOfAwesomeness/pseuds/CupcakeOfAwesomeness'>CupcakeOfAwesomeness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Boyfriends, Burns, Crushes, Depression, Do I tag too much? Probably, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Good Boyfriend Michael Mell, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Original Broadway Cast, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Canon, References to Depression, Secret Relationship, pretty fast burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:15:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27243067</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeOfAwesomeness/pseuds/CupcakeOfAwesomeness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He picks up the pieces of himself, charred and broken, abused and unloved. He is a burnt child, still dreading the fire, still feeling consumed by the flame. His mind is messy, chaotic, parsing through remnants of who he used to be. He cannot escape the captivity of freedom.</p><p>But he is met by forgiveness and empathy and <i>love</i> and is taught that healing is not as unattainable as he thought.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rich Goranski/Michael Mell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Extinguished</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Idk even what to say except I'm v happy with this so far 😌✨ </p><p>Oh and TW the f-slur is used twice, but kinda as a past tense thing, like "hey I used this word in the past and now I feel bad about it and I won't use it ever again!!" thing idk. Also stuff like depression and suicide but that sort of stuff is mentioned in the actual musical too so y'know.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Quiet.</p><p>That was the first thing Richard Goranski noticed when his consciousness slowly returned. Not the pain, not the light, not the smell—the silence. </p><p>Everything else hit him soon enough, but he allowed himself to relish in the silence for a moment. No voices, no buzzing, no <em> SQUIP</em>. He was <em> alone</em>—he was <em> free</em>. </p><p>He was... <em> scared</em>. </p><p>The light was blinding when he forced his eyes open. This was the first time in <em> two years </em> that he was without that fucking dictator in his brain and he felt so... <em> empty</em>. He closed his eyes again—<em>tightly</em>, not willing to let the light back in—and <em> thought</em>. He thought and thought and thought.</p><p>There was no response. </p><p>Freedom felt more claustrophobic than captivity had. </p><p>No, no, no, NO. He couldn't think like that. He needed to remember how <em> terrible </em> that stupid hivemind felt. Classic abuser shit, right? You remember good stuff they did for you and you brush off the bad, accept the apologies and believe the lies they feed you. </p><p>But that was hard to remember when he felt so hopelessly <em> unsure</em>. </p><p>He couldn't move his body—everything hurt and he felt stiff and <em> itchy</em>, god—and he opened his eyes again. This time, he let his blurry vision adjust, blinking up at the harsh fluorescent ceiling lights. The room was so <em> white</em>, so bright, so devoid of emotion. A hospital room, he realized. And... he was in a full fucking <em> body cast</em>? </p><p>
  <em> The fire. Jake's house.  </em>
</p><p>It all flooded back to him in seconds and he choked on a sob. <em> He </em> had done that. <em> He had</em>—</p><p>“Rich?”</p><p>It was a hesitant voice, coming from his left. He jerked his head to face the speaker—groaning in pain in the process—and could see he wasn't the only patient in the room. Jeremy Heere—<em>tallass</em>—was slumbering on the bed next to him. And sitting in the chair nearest to the door was Anti-Social Headphones Kid. And he was <em> staring </em> at Rich with—with so much <em> confusion </em> and <em> anger </em> and <em> pity</em>. </p><p>Rich sniffed—he couldn't wipe his eyes, he must look <em> so pathetic</em>—and muttered out a quiet, pathetic, “...Hi.”</p><p>“Are... you okay?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>.” He spat out the word, then cringed. <em>Yeth</em>. Tears prickled at his eyes again. <em>Fucking</em> <em>lisp</em>. “I'm—whatever. I'm fine.”</p><p>Headphones stayed quiet and Rich thought that was the end of that. Then:</p><p>“Can I sit by you?”</p><p>Oh. Rich swallowed. That was <em> not </em> what he was expecting. He didn't know what to say. He waited for a voice to direct him, to tell him exactly what he needed to do. </p><p>None came. </p><p>“I get it if you don't want me here,” Headphones said, interrupting Rich's internal struggle. “I just figured that Jeremy hasn't woken up yet and you might want someone to talk to, but I can shut up or leave or—”</p><p>“No.” His voice sounded strangled. God, what a loser. “No, you can come—” <em> (—he didn't want to say sit, he didn't want to hear anymore of his stupid lisp—) </em> “—<em>talk </em> with me.”</p><p>The other boy nodded, cautiously getting to his feet and perching himself on the chair next to Rich. He had that <em> look</em>—Rich <em> knew </em> that look—where he was obviously uncomfortable—sitting on the very edge of the seat, legs cramped together, hands on his knees, eyes looking <em> anywhere </em> but Rich—and yet he didn't leave. He stayed seated, fiddling with his headphones cord. Rich felt the awkwardness hanging thick in the air, sucking the oxygen from his lungs. He couldn't speak. He didn't know what to say. </p><p>“So, um, yours is gone, right?”</p><p>Rich tried to nod; his neck ached. “Yeah,” he said instead. “Yeah, it's gone.”</p><p>“Good! I figured it was, since everyone else's is too, but I wanted to make sure.” His gaze almost met Rich's; he whipped his head away before that could happen. “This has been one <em>fucking</em> <em>crazy</em> first semester.”</p><p>“Is the semester <em> over</em>?” Rich asked, eyes wide. Had it been <em> that </em> long since Halloween? </p><p>“No! No, it's just mid-November. It <em> feels </em> like an entire year has passed though.” Headphones picked at a hangnail. “Um, apparently you've been in a medically induced coma for a couple weeks, while they were treating your burns.”</p><p>“<em>Shit</em>... That's...”</p><p>“Yeah...”</p><p>Another bout of silence followed. Rich <em> hated </em> it. He didn't know what to <em> say</em>. He <em> never </em> knew what to say. </p><p>“I don't like you,” Headphones said suddenly. Rich stayed quiet—solemn. “You treated Jeremy and me like <em> shit </em> for <em> years</em>. You're a bully and an asshole. I don't know why I'm even talking to you.”</p><p>“I know... I'm sorry,” Rich whispered, biting the inside of his cheek as his lisp turned sorry into <em> thorry</em>. “<em>God</em>, I really am. I know that doesn't make up for <em> anything </em> and it <em> shouldn't</em>, but I—I need you to <em> know</em>.”</p><p>He nodded, slowly, processing Rich's words. Rich <em> knew </em> it wasn't enough. Nothing he could say—nothing he could <em> do</em>—would <em> ever </em> be enough. </p><p>“You're right—that <em> doesn't </em> make up for anything.” Rich glanced away. “But...” Headphones sighed, a whisper of a smile on his face. “Apologizing is the first step, I guess. So... thanks, Rich.”</p><p>Rich smiled at him; this time, their eyes met. </p><p> </p><p>He learned Headphones' name the next day. He came in again—<em>to see tallass, certainly, it couldn't be anyone else</em>—but this time there was a nurse hot on his heels. She made a beeline for Rich, pulling him along when he tried to sit next to Jeremy. </p><p>“Richard Goranski?” she asked, though she must've known full well who he was already—he had been there for <em> weeks</em>, albeit unconscious—but, formalities, he supposed. He managed a nod and she smiled at him. “I'm Mahalina Mell, I'm your nurse. It's good to see you awake. I understand you already know my son, Michael.” She gestured to Headphones; he gave a terse wave. “You must know Jeremy, also?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah. I do,” Rich mumbled, not meeting Headphones—<em>Michael's</em>—gaze, practically taunting him to tell the truth. <em> Yes, Mrs. Mell, in fact, I'm the one who made your son's life a living hell for two years! But after setting myself on fire, I've chilled out, so you have nothing to worry about! </em>“We all go to the same school.”</p><p>“Good! Michael has been spending every day in this room, it will do him good to have someone to talk to rather than sit silently beside his comatose best friend.” He saw Michael grimace; he looked away, guiltily. “Now, I need to ask you some questions, okay, Richard?”</p><p>Rich nodded. Mahalina went through the list of standard questions and Rich was fine answering most of them. Only when she gently asked, “And do you have any clue how the fire started?” did he feel his stomach drop. What could he say? <em> What could he say? </em></p><p>“I, uh—”</p><p>His heart was pounding so loudly that he was sure the Mells could hear it. </p><p>“I—I <em> don't</em>—”</p><p>He squeezed his eyes closed—he couldn't face them. His stomach hurt—it hurt it hurt <em>it</em> <em>hurt</em>—</p><p>“<em>I'm not</em>—”</p><p><em> He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe</em>—</p><p>“—<em>ch</em>! Rich! Hey, it's okay!”</p><p>Rich still couldn't find his breath. </p><p>“Hey, hey, it's all right. It's just you and me. Breathe with me, okay?”</p><p>
  <em> In... </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Out... </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In... </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Out... </em>
</p><p>Finally, Rich opened his eyes again, blinking as he stared up into the face of Michael Mell. He still felt shaky and his thoughts weren't quite coherent. </p><p>“What—what <em> was </em> that?” Rich asked, quietly. He wasn't sure if he was asking himself or Michael. </p><p>“Pretty sure you just had an anxiety attack,” Michael replied, softly. He hesitantly sat down, still looking at Rich with sympathy. “I've been through those more than I like to admit... So has Jeremy. I know how hard it is.”</p><p>Rich nodded, swallowing. “I—I think I used to have them. Before—<em>before</em>, uh...” He couldn't say it out loud. <em> He couldn't</em>. “Before,” he said, simply. “I forgot how bad they could feel...”</p><p>“Sorry you had to go through it again.” Michael fidgeted. “My mom doesn't know, by the way. About the—uh, y'know. The <em> pills</em>.” He crossed and uncrossed his legs. “It sounds crazy and is hard to explain, so... She just knows you were in a fire and everyone else, uh, OD-ed on ecstasy.”</p><p>“Oh my <em> god</em>.” Rich couldn't help but laugh at that. “<em>Ecstasy</em>?”</p><p>“Hey, man, it's hard to come up with a lie as to why seven people screamed and lost consciousness during a high school play!” Michael was chuckling too; Rich felt that was a good sign. “I couldn't just say they simultaneously fainted, since Jere's been out for a couple <em> days </em>now—”</p><p>“Wait,” Rich's brain caught up to his ears, “<em>what happened </em> at the school play?”</p><p>“Shit, I forgot you wouldn't know,” Michael said, eyes wide with realization. “Strap in, I guess—it's a <em> wild </em> ride.”</p><p>Rich listened intently, interjecting here and there—(“<em>Holy shit, the entire school?</em>” and “<em>Damn, didn't think Heere had it in him.</em>” and “<em>Wait, what the fuck happened to Jake's legs?</em>” and “<em>That's pretty badass, Mell, gotta be honest.</em>”)—and was speechless by the time the tale was over. </p><p>“So <em> that's </em> why it's gone,” he whispered, as everything fell into place. “That's crazy, dude!”</p><p>“And <em> fascinating</em>,” Michael added. “I mean, they were all linked and could communicate and Jeremy's was, like, the <em> hivemind</em>—”</p><p>“<em>Nerd</em>,” Rich coughed, grinning when Michael punched his shoulder (lightly). “I guess I need to thank you. That it's finally gone, I mean.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, no problem,” Michael said, shrugging. “I didn't mean to; I mean, not to sound like an asshole, but I was really only thinking about getting rid of Jeremy's in that moment.”</p><p>“Nah, I get it—”</p><p>“I think I would've given you some Mountain Dew Red too, though, if it hadn't worked like that.” Rich looked at him curiously. “I might not like you much, but I'm not a <em> psychopath</em>. I wouldn't leave <em> anyone </em> with a fucking <em> murder computer </em> in their head.”</p><p>“Thanks, Michael,” Rich said, in a quiet sincerity. Michael nodded awkwardly and looked away, seeming embarrassed at the genuine gratitude. Then, Rich frowned, suddenly remembering someone was missing from the room. “Hey, where'd your mom go?”</p><p>“Oh, she went to get you some water and a snack,” Michael said. Then he quickly added, “You don't have to tell her about the fire, if you don't want to. You can just say you don't know, or it's too hard to think about, or whatever.”</p><p>Rich nodded, slowly. “I just—I feel so...” He shook his head. “I <em> should </em> say something because it is <em> so </em> fucked up—<em>I'm </em> so fucked up—but it's <em> hard</em>.”</p><p>Michael nodded. “You don't have to say anything until you're ready.”</p><p>“<em>Anak</em>, I brought water and muffins!” Mahalina called, entering the room. She smiled at them both, setting the items on the bedside table next to Rich. “Ah, Richard, how are you feeling, <em> Nakaligtas</em>?”</p><p>Rich had <em> no </em>idea what she was saying, but he said, “I'm okay, thanks, Mrs. Mell.”</p><p>“Please, call me Mahalina. Mrs. Mell is my wife,” Mahalina said with a laugh. </p><p>Michael's eyes went wide and he was staring at Rich. At first, Rich didn't realize why he looked so nervous—staring into his eyes like he had already said something detrimental—until he remembered everything from everytime he had ever bullied Michael. </p><p><em> Boyf riends</em>. </p><p><em> Gay</em>. </p><p><em> Homo</em>. </p><p><em> Fag</em>...</p><p>“That's cool,” Rich said, quickly. He flashed Michael a remorseful look, trying to convey two years' worth of apologies into one glance. “Thank you, uh, Mahalina.”</p><p>Mahalina smiled, patting Rich's arm gently. “Good. I need to assist another patient, will you be okay, Richard?”</p><p>“Uh, yeah! I'll be fine.”</p><p>“Good. I'll be back in later. <em> Anak</em>?” Michael looked over at his mom. (Rich figured that must've meant <em> son </em> or something.) “Keep your friend company, help him eat and drink when he's ready, and call me if Jeremy wakes up.”</p><p>“Yes, <em> Nanay</em>,” Michael said, waving his mom away. </p><p>As soon as she was out of earshot, Rich blurted, “Okay, what the fuck does <em> anuck </em> mean?”</p><p>Michael chuckled. “<em>Anak</em>. It means <em> child </em>in Tagalog.”</p><p>“Tag-ah-lug?”</p><p>“<em>Tagalog</em>. It's the language we speak in the Philippines. <em> Nanay </em> is Filipino, like me—<em>Nanay </em> means mom, Rich. My other mom is Moroccan, so I can her Mama or <em> Umi</em>.”</p><p>“I'm guessing Umi means mom in Moroccan?”</p><p>“Arabic, but yeah.” Michael played with his headphone cords uncomfortably. “Why are you so interested, anyways? I thought you hated <em> fags</em>.”</p><p>Michael spat the word at him and Rich could see the fury bubbling over within him. Insulting Michael was one thing, but the slightest <em> hint </em>of a threat to his moms? That was dangerous. </p><p>“<em>No</em>! My—my—” He swallowed.<em> He couldn't say it</em>. “<em>My</em> <em>pill </em>made me say that!” Rich felt tears welling in his eyes—fuck that, don't cry, don't cry, <em>boys don't fucking cry!</em>—and he blinked, urging the tears back down. “I'm <em>sorry</em>, Michael, I really am. I know this doesn't <em>change</em> anything—<em>fuck</em>—” A stray tear had escaped—Rich hated himself for that. “But I don't hate you <em>or</em> your moms, I <em>promise</em>. I—I'm <em>done</em> being a fucking <em>son of a bitch</em>! You don't need to forgive me, just—just <em>know </em>that I would <em>never</em> insult your moms. Or you. Not again.”</p><p>Michael nodded, slowly, quietly. “Okay. I believe you. I don't like you, but I believe you.”</p><p>He pulled on his headphones and looked away. Rich closed his eyes wearily. </p><p> </p><p>“You know,” Michael said, on day three of hanging out with Rich in the hospital, “I don't hate this as much as I thought I would.”</p><p>Rich glanced over at him; they were watching some old, obscure movie—<em>UHF</em>—that Rich was ashamed at laughing so much at. Michael had arrived after school with a stack of DVDs and a complaint of boredom. The past two days, they had always ended up awkward and silent halfway through Michael's visits, so he had decided to bring something to make it less so. Rich had told him that he didn't need to hang out with him—he understood—but Michael waved him off, just starting up the movie. </p><p>“I'm glad,” Rich said, smiling. “Thanks for giving me a chance, dude.”</p><p>“No problem.” He glanced over at their bowl of microwave popcorn. “I'm gonna pop some more. Okay if I pause the movie?”</p><p>Rich nodded. “Go for it, dude.”</p><p>Michael hopped out of his seat, grinning widely as Raoul was just about to toss a poodle out the window—(this movie was fucking <em> weird</em>, man, but so, <em> so </em> funny)—and left the room. Rich smiled to himself. It had only been three days—three long, <em> long </em> days—but Michael already felt like a friend. He knew that it probably wasn't reciprocated, but it was good right now, in the moment. </p><p>“<em>Unghhh</em>...”</p><p>He whipped his head to the left; Jeremy was slowly coming to. Rich could practically hear him going through the exact same thought process that he had gone through a few days prior. </p><p>“The quiet is unsettling, right?”</p><p>Jeremy nearly jumped out of his skin, staring at Rich. Rich gave him a small smile—gentle and hesitant. </p><p>“...Rich?”</p><p>“In the flesh,” Rich said, proudly. Then he looked down at himself. “Or, well, the body cast.”</p><p>“So, your SQUIP is—?”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Rich tried not to flinch at the word. “Look, tallass, I'm <em> so </em> sorry. About <em> everything</em>.”</p><p>Jeremy didn't respond immediately, quiet and contemplating. Finally, he said, “I forgive you, Rich. I know how <em> fucked up </em> everything feels with that <em> thing </em> in your head.”</p><p>“Yeah...” Rich sighed, looking away ruefully. “I'm sorry I told you about it... <em> Fuck</em>, I ruined your life in so many ways...”</p><p>“Hey, no, it's okay. What's done is done. I'm not—well, I'm a little bit mad, but I have <em> perspective </em> now. I <em> forgive you</em>, Rich. Let's just—here, let's start over.” Jeremy sat up more comfortably and faced Rich. “Hi, I'm Jeremy Heere. I like video games and musical theatre. What's your name?”</p><p>“I'm, uh, Rich Goranski. I like English class and making fun of shitty seventies cartoons.” Jeremy laughed. Rich grinned. “Fuck, it feels good to be <em> real </em> for once.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jeremy agreed, smiling wide. </p><p>“Now, the ladies can learn to love the <em> real </em> Richard Goranski,” Rich exclaimed, matching Jeremy's grin. He thought about Brooke—who <em> hadn't </em> had a crush on that cute blonde at some point?—and that girl he had met at camp last summer and Michael and Bea and—<em>wait</em>. </p><p>Wait.</p><p><em> Michael</em>? </p><p>Michael, with his adorable dimples and slight accent and contagious laugh and slender fingers and long eyelashes and bilingualism and eyes like shining copper and—</p><p>“<em>Holy shit</em>,” he whispered, eyes widening comically. “<em>Hooooly shit</em>.”</p><p>“What is it?” Jeremy asked. </p><p>“<em>And the dudes</em>,” Rich said, staring at Jeremy in disbelief. A new grin slowly spread across his face. “The ladies<em> and the dudes</em>!” Jeremy still looked thoroughly confused. “Oh my god, I'm <em>totally</em> <em>bi</em>!”</p><p>Jeremy laughed—he couldn't help it. It was such a sudden revelation, and Rich's expressions alone had him drowning in bouts of laughter. “Congrats, dude!”</p><p>“I'm bi!” Rich couldn't stop saying it; the epiphany had him giddy. “I'm bisexual!”</p><p>“Wait, wait,” Jeremy said, finally calming down, “how is your SQUIP gone? Did the fire—?”</p><p>“No, it was some weird link thing—ask Michael. He's the one who explained it to me.”</p><p>“Wow, I didn't think you even knew his name,” Jeremy joked. Rich could feel his cheeks heat up; Jeremy noticed and another fit of giggles began. “Oh my god, you didn't!”</p><p>“Shut <em> up</em>!” There was no true malice in his voice, as he began laughing as well. “Dude!”</p><p>“Sorry, sorry, I just—I don't even know why it's so funny!”</p><p>“<em>Jeremy</em>!” Neither boy had time to react before Michael re-entered the room and tackled his best friend in a tight hug. “You're <em> awake</em>!”</p><p>Rich choked down his laughter so they could have their moment. In an endeavor not to eavesdrop, he tried to think about something—<em>anything</em>—but he found it <em> so difficult</em>. It had been so <em> long </em> since it was just him and his thoughts. Why was it so <em> hard</em>? </p><p>He turned his head so he was facing the window; there was a bluejay sitting on a tree branch. It blinked at him; he blinked back. It looked so calm, so contemplative, so <em> assured </em> of itself. He wondered if it was capable of complex thought—he hoped, for its sake, it wasn't. Thought meant <em> worry </em> and <em> stress </em> and <em> self-doubt </em> and <em> uncertainty</em>. To be a bird, he could fly away and build a nest and sleep. None of this <em> pondering </em> or <em> query</em>—merely sticks and worms. </p><p>“Rich?”</p><p>He turned back to Michael and Jeremy, who were both looking at him expectantly. “Hm?”</p><p>“I just asked if you wanted to keep watching <em> UHF</em>,” Michael reiterated. “Jere's seen it a million times, so he's cool just continuing where we left off. <em> Raoul's Wild Kingdom </em> awaits!”</p><p>Rich was frankly in disbelief that Michael was offering. He had assumed that, now with Jeremy awake, he would be once again left alone—Michael would sit with his best friend and ignore Rich, which, honestly, he deserved. But instead, both boys were smiling, silently encouraging him to agree. He found himself grinning as well, nodding gratefully. </p><p>“Awesome! Let's get this party started,” Jeremy exclaimed. Rich refused to cry—<em>not even happy tears</em>—but he did feel his smile grow wider. </p><p> </p><p>Mr. Heere had come to pick Jeremy up later that day—he was completely uninjured, aside from a few bruises, a massive headache, and obvious psychological damage—and Michael's other mom—Maahnoor, she introduced herself as, and practically <em> ordered </em> Rich to call her Noor—came to pick her wife and son up soon after. Michael promised to visit Rich the next day, but Rich <em> knew </em> he wasn't actually going to. Why <em> would </em> he? Rich was his <em> bully</em>. Granted, he was <em> trying</em>—<em>so hard</em>, he was trying—to atone for his past, but still... he wasn't an <em> idiot</em>. <em> Nothing </em> would erase what he'd done. Nothing could make up for how he tormented them. Sure, yesterday had been wonderful, but that couldn't possibly last. </p><p>“Hey, Rich!” Rich stared at Michael, wide-eyed. Michael didn't seem to notice his shock immediately, continuing, “I brought <em> Police Squad</em>—it's got similar to humour to <em> UHF </em> and it only has, like, <em> six episodes</em>, which is a <em> tragedy </em> if you ask me—” He stopped short, finally seeing Rich's expression. “What?”</p><p>“I didn't think you'd really come,” Rich whispered, voice wavering. Fuck, why was he <em> already </em> emotional? </p><p>“I said I would, didn't I?” Michael plopped down in the seat next to Rich—he was so <em> casual</em>, so <em> comfortable</em>, so <em> changed </em> from only a few days prior. “Look, I know I was really angry before? But, honestly... You've already proven that you've changed. Call me crazy, but I <em> like </em> hanging out with you. If you <em> want </em>me to leave though, I will.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>! N-No, I like you being here. Please stay.” Desperation crept into Rich's tone and he hated it. <em> Shut </em> up<em>, Goranski</em>. “I like hanging with you too. Thank you for—” <em> (—giving me a chance, being so kind, letting me get to know you, being yourself, saving my life—) </em> “—for <em> everything</em>.”</p><p>Michael grinned; Rich would <em> never </em> get tired of that grin. “No problem, dude. 'Sides, my moms have basically adopted you. It's all, <em> oh Micah, why haven't you talked about this Richard boy before? </em> and <em> you need to invite him over when he's healed, Anak</em>.” Michael rolled his eyes fondly and Rich snorted; his impressions were spot-on. “Seriously, you're gonna outrank me soon.”</p><p>“Glad I could make such a good impression,” Rich teased. “But... what about Jeremy?”</p><p>“He's exhausted,” Michael said. “His brain is still severely fucked up from everything that happened. He's processing and needs to be alone.” Rich nodded; he definitely understood that. “Plus, his dad is trying to get him into counselling—which, honestly? Probably a good idea.”</p><p>“Yeah. I'm definitely gonna need some therapy after all this shit too,” Rich said, forcing a laugh. <em> His dad would never let him do that, though. </em> He shook his head, pushing that thought out of his mind. He knew his demeanor had become dejected. <em> Just—don't think about your dad, Goranski. </em> He forced a smile. “Um, should we watch this show of yours?”</p><p>Michael had <em> definitely </em>noticed Rich's mood shift. He coughed awkwardly. Rich sighed. </p><p>“My dad is—it's just—”</p><p>“No, no, you don't need to explain,” Michael said hurriedly. “It's okay. Um, my mom, ah, actually told me.”</p><p>“Oh.” Rich felt his stomach twinge uncomfortably. <em> Mahalina knew? </em> Michael <em> knew? </em></p><p>“I mean,” Michael rushed to explain, “when someone who's underage is admitted to the hospital, they have to alert their guardians, y'know? So, <em> Nanay </em> called your emergency contact—your dad—and he, um...” Michael trailed off, muttering something in Tagalog under his breath. Then, in a small voice, the smallest, saddest voice Rich had ever heard, he whispered, “He basically said he didn't care.”</p><p>“Ah. Yep. That's Dad.” Rich forced himself to laugh again; Michael wasn't laughing. In fact, he looked horrified. Rich swallowed. “What do you <em> want </em> me to say, Michael? <em> Oh, yeah, my dad abuses me on the reg?</em>” It was sarcastic, but tears were dripping down Rich's cheeks. <em> He couldn't wipe them away, he hated that he couldn't wipe them away</em>— “That he drove my older brother to commit <em> suicide</em>? That his treatment of me is what made me want to get a <em> SQUIP</em>?” He was crying now, choking on angry tears. “It's fucking <em> whatever</em>, just—just leave me alone!”</p><p>Michael didn't leave. </p><p>“It's—it's not <em> fucking whatever</em>, Rich, this is—this is <em> serious</em>!” He had tears in his eyes too—why did he have tears in his eyes too? “Your dad is <em> abusive</em>. That's not okay! We—I—you need to <em> tell </em> someone!”</p><p>“I just told <em> you</em>, didn't I?” Rich spat. He didn't know why he was so mad at <em> Michael</em>. “Leave it alone!”</p><p>“<em>No</em>!” Michael was yelling now, on his feet, fists clenched. “Rich, why don't you want <em> help</em>? I could help you!”</p><p>“Well, I don't <em> need </em> your help! Just—just leave me alone, <em> loser</em>!”</p><p>Michael stopped moving. He stood there, panting quietly. Rich was still crying—<em>sobbing</em>—and his head was filled with simple fury. He didn't even know <em> why</em>. He was just <em> angry</em>. </p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>Rich watched as Michael coolly left the room. He only started sobbing harder. </p><p> </p><p>Only ten minutes later, Mahalina was in the room, armed with a box of tissues and a bottle of water. She gently wiped Rich's tears and helped him take a drink. Then, she sat next to him, smiling kindly. </p><p>“Richard, Micah told me what you told him.” Rich sniffed, looking away guiltily. Mahalina continued, softly, <em> lovingly</em>, “Can you tell me about your home?”</p><p>Rich was tired of arguing—tired of being angry, tired of pretending he was <em> okay</em>—so he sighed and told her <em> everything</em>. He talked about how his mom had died in a car crash when he was only five, how his father had turned to drinking, how that drinking had developed into abuse, how his older brother, Raymond, had tried to protect him, how Ray Goranski had taken his own life at sixteen after seven consecutive years of abuse, how Rich had gotten into drugs—well, <em> one pill </em> specifically, but he didn't have the energy to explain SQUIPs right now—two years ago after being so depressed and lonely and <em> unsure </em> for so long, how he had projected his own feelings of insecurity and toxic masculinity onto others—<em>read: mainly Michael and Jeremy</em>—and he didn't stop—<em>couldn't stop</em>—talking, even when he was sobbing again and felt so pathetic and disgusting and like he wished the fire <em> had </em>killed him. </p><p>“<em>An-And I felt so terrible</em>!” he cried, barely able to see through his tears. “<em>B-But I </em> am <em> terrible! I'm a horrible person! I know I deserved it all! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry</em>!”</p><p>“<em>No</em>.” Mahalina's voice was firm, yet tender. “You do <em> not </em> deserve this, <em> Nakaligtas</em>. <em> No one </em> deserves this. You have made <em> mistakes</em>, but you are <em> sixteen</em>. There is a reason you are still here. You are <em> important</em>, Richard. You are worthy of <em> happiness </em> and <em> love</em>.”</p><p>Rich couldn't believe it—he had just admitted to being her son's bully, yet she was saying he was <em>important</em>? <em> Worthy of love</em>? He was reduced to hiccupy, choked out sobs, unable to speak anymore. </p><p>“Richard... What you've told me, I can't keep hidden. I need to call Child Protective Services, you understand?” Rich nodded, swallowing a disgusting mesh of snot and tears and saliva. “Do you have any other family to go to?”</p><p>Rich shook his head sorrowfully. Both his parents were only-children, so he had no aunts or uncles or cousins to speak of, and both pairs of his grandparents had died years ago. He probably had some extended family <em> somewhere</em>, but he didn't have any inklings as to who or where. All he had was his dad...</p><p>Mahalina nodded slowly, solemnly. “Okay, <em> Anak</em>... You will need to stay here while you heal, anyway... I am going to contact the police, Micah will come back in, yes?” Rich hesitated; he felt <em> awful </em> about how he had yelled at Michael, when the other boy had only been trying to help him. The nurse saw his hesitation and added, “He's been worried sick about you, <em>Nakaligtas</em>. He <em> wants </em> to come be with you.”</p><p>“Okay...” His voice was strained from crying; he shut his mouth. Mahalina smiled at him and—<em>god</em>, she had given him <em> so much love </em> in such a short time—he forced himself to murmur, “Thank you, Mahalina... for everything you've done for me...”</p><p>“Of course, <em> Anak</em>.” </p><p>She leaned down and kissed his forehead lovingly. He felt his heart swell; this was what a mother's love felt like? He swallowed again, willing himself not to cry more. </p><p>She had barely left the room when Michael barrelled in. “Rich!”</p><p>Rich was shocked as Michael pulled him into a hug—awkward and stiff as it was, due to his cast, Rich felt so <em> loved</em>, so <em> wanted</em>, so <em> meaningful</em>. Tears were welling up, just as he had thought he'd had none left. <em> Don't cry again, don't cry again, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry...  </em></p><p>“I'm sorry for leaving, I just knew I had to tell my mom,” Michael said, finally pulling away, pushing his hair out of his face anxiously. “I shouldn't have left you crying, though, I should've said something right then instead of leaving, I'm sorry!”</p><p>“No, it's okay,” Rich said, voice still choked. “I—I didn't realize how much I needed to tell someone.”</p><p>“Oh, I have good news, though! <em> Nanay </em>said you'll be able to get most of your cast off tomorrow!” Michael tapped Rich's chest lightly, grinning. “I think you'll have to keep some of it on, but you're gonna get the majority off.”</p><p>“Awesome! This has <em> not </em>been comfortable,” Rich said, making an over-exaggerated face of disgust. Then he rubbed his hands together. “So, what's this show you mentioned?”</p><p>Michael, sensing Rich didn't want to discuss his situation any longer, jumped into an explanation of <em> Police Squad</em>, cheerfully taking the shorter boy's mind away from his father. Rich couldn't be more grateful. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>[EDIT: just adding a couple things I wanted to initially mention but forgot because I posted this at like 2 am 😌✨ healthy sleeping patterns? Who's she? </p><p> <b>TAGALOG TRANSLATIONS:</b></p><p><b><i>Anak</i></b> = child<br/>(also seen it as referring to son specifically, but some of my Filipina friends' parents refer to them as anak, so I think it's really an umbrella term of affection)</p><p><b><i>Nakaligtas</i></b> = survivor<br/>(Mahalina starts calling Rich this because, well, it'll be explained later on actually, but anyways, it means survivor!)</p><p>And then, as Michael explains, Nanay and Umi mean mom in Tagalog and Arabic, respectively. Allow me to also say, I am very white and am getting all of my information from Google translate and my Filipino friends at church, so please correct me if need be!! I'd rather amend mistakes than accidentally offend anyone 😊]</p><p> </p><p>I hope you liked this so far!!! Idk how long this will be and I make no promises on how quick updates will be but here you go ✌️</p><p>Kudos, comments, and bookmarks mean the world to me!! Thank you for reading! ~Jayce</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Rekindling Ashes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hopefully this chapter reads as smoothly as the last one? I don't have much to say up top tbh so let's just jump into it! 😄🎉🙌</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rich was left with just casts on his arms, as his upper body had seen the most damage done. Mahalina came in daily to rewrap bandages around his exposed burns on his legs and midriff, but only his arms were hindered now. Michael still came to visit every day—Rich wasn't quite sure why, despite Michael claiming he enjoyed his company. Shouldn't he be with <em> Jeremy</em>? But he wasn't complaining; it was nice, having a <em> friend</em>. And they <em> were </em>friends, Michael had even said it himself. </p><p>“Yes, <em> Umi</em>, I'm with my friend, Rich,” Michael said, speaking to his other mother on the phone while Mahalina tended to Rich's bandages nearly a week and a half after he had first woken up. “<em>Yes</em>, in the hospital—you know I only have, like, <em> two </em> friends, right? I'm always gonna be with either Rich or Jeremy. Mm... I guess, yeah. Okay. <em> Yes</em>, Mama. <em> Yes, Mama! Okay! Bye</em>!” He hung up, rolling his eyes at Rich. “<em>Moms</em>, am I right?”</p><p>Mahalina hit him upside the head. “<em>Anak</em>!”</p><p>Rich laughed loudly—his burns twinged as he shook with laughter. Mahalina tutted, but chuckled as well, finishing up with Rich's bandages and patting his chest lightly. </p><p>“Thanks, Mahalina,” he said, smiling widely. </p><p>“You're welcome, Richard.” She patted Michael's shoulder on her way out of the room. “I'll check on you two later, Micah.”</p><p>“Thanks, <em> Nanay</em>.” Michael took his place next to Rich, smile fading. “So, I actually wanted to ask you something, if that's cool. Feel free to, like, hit me if it's too personal or whatever.”</p><p>“Okay...” </p><p>“What was it like?” Michael asked, barely above a whisper. He met Rich's eyes, a melancholic expression on his face. Rich knew what he meant—<em>of course, he knew</em>—but Michael clarified anyway. “Having a SQUIP, I mean. What did it feel like?”</p><p>Rich couldn't answer right away. He stared at the ceiling. Two years of being under its power and he still couldn't find the words to describe it. <em> It felt like... </em></p><p>“Like I never had to worry about <em> anything </em> ever again,” he said finally, looking back at Michael. Sincerity filled the space between them. “Like—like there was someone who <em> knew </em> and <em> cared </em> with me all the time. I would never be <em> alone </em> or <em> unsure </em> again. I just needed to listen and obey...” He trailed off. It sounded <em> so </em> fucked up now that he was saying it out loud. “But, of course, that didn't last too long.</p><p>“Soon enough, it felt <em> suffocating</em>. I was <em> never alone</em>. I couldn't <em> choose</em>. I was a <em> puppet</em>—but, like, I <em> knew </em> I was just hanging on these strings? I could kind of break free, but not quite. That was probably the worst part. I—it was like I was Pinocchio—<em>sentient </em> and <em> self-aware </em> and <em> unhappy</em>—but I still had these fucking <em> strings</em>, so I had to do whatever fucking dance it wanted me to do. Sometimes the strings would, like, come loose, or break, but never for long. It was <em> so</em>... I know I already said suffocating, but it really was. I was underwater and <em> drowning </em> and no one could <em> tell</em>.”</p><p>Rich felt Michael's hand on his cheek suddenly. He stared at him—Michael pulled his hand back quickly, mumbling about tears. Rich rubbed his face harshly, his cast irritating the burns that were there, but he couldn't care less. He sniffled pitifully. </p><p>“It was easier to just... <em>comply</em>...” He stared down at his hands—fingers poking out of the thick casts—and watched the teardrops land there. “I stopped <em>wanting</em> to listen, but... It was always <em>there</em>, always talking, never <em>shutting up</em>. A-and the shocks were getting <em>so bad</em>—it hurt <em>so much</em>—and I was trying <em>so hard</em> to get rid of it, b-but I didn't know how until it was too late—!”</p><p>He couldn't continue, his sobs hindering his ability to speak. Michael—hesitantly, <em> shyly</em>—took Rich's hand. The warmth of his palm against Rich's fingers was soothing. </p><p>“I'm sorry I asked,” he whispered. Rich shook his head, trying to convey his thoughts in a simple gesture, all while choked sobs poured from his mouth. Michael added, softly, “Thank you for telling me, though. I'm sorry you had to go through that, Rich.”</p><p>“<em>I-It's okay</em>,” Rich managed to hiccup out, trying to squeeze Michael's hand, though it was hard with the cast. “I'm gl-glad I told you...” He grabbed a tissue from his bedside table, wiping his tears with a pitiful laugh. “<em>God</em>, I'm so <em> pathetic</em>—sorry.”</p><p>“You're <em> not </em> pathetic, Rich—”</p><p>“<em>I am</em>!” Rich felt angry—but not at Michael this time—at <em>himself</em>. He hated making people feel the need to lie about him, to deny his feebleness to his face. “I-I couldn't break free of that <em>monster's</em> hold over me an-and I can't stop <em>stuttering</em> and <em>crying</em> and I have this fucking <em>lisp</em> again and I was such an <em>asshole</em> to <em>everyone</em> and everyone <em>hates</em> <em>me</em> and I wish I were <em>fucking dead</em>!” He felt more tears and he covered his face with his hands, running them through his hair, just <em>tired</em> and <em>frustrated</em> and <em>dejected</em>. “<em>Fuck</em>.”</p><p>“Rich, <em> none of that </em>is true.”</p><p>“<em>Don't fucking lie to me, Michael</em>!” The burns on his face stung as salty tears rolled down. “I'm so fucking <em> tired </em> of everyone lying to me! Just <em> please</em>, for the love of <em> god</em>, tell me the <em> truth</em>!”</p><p>There was a lull—it was only the briefest of moments. </p><p>“Rich. Look at me.” </p><p>“N-<em>No</em>—I <em> can't</em>—”</p><p>“<em>Rich</em>.”</p><p>Rich forced his head up—forced himself to look into Michael's eyes. He was met with such <em> pureness</em>, such intense <em> love </em> and <em> admiration</em>, such <em> truth</em>. </p><p>“Rich, you are <em> not </em> pathetic. You are <em> not </em> to blame for being trapped under the SQUIP's power—<em>no one </em> could really escape it without Mountain Dew Red. Stuttering and crying are <em> not </em> something to be ashamed of. Neither is having a lisp! It's not <em> pathetic </em> or—or <em> stupid </em> or whatever you think it is. There's no need to feel ashamed about it. And literally <em> no one </em>hates you for when you were an asshole. Not me, not Jeremy, not anyone!”</p><p>“You can't <em> know </em> that—”</p><p>“<em>Yes, I can</em>! At school, Jake and Jenna and Chloe and Brooke and Christine all sit with me and Jeremy now—and <em> you</em>, once you're back—and they're <em> always </em> asking about you! Seriously, they all miss you and put everything behind them. I have too. You've <em> changed </em> and we all <em> love you</em>, Rich. You're our <em> friend </em> and that's <em> not </em> gonna change anytime soon.”</p><p>Rich swallowed, sniffling woefully. He knew Michael wouldn't just <em> make that up</em>, but... </p><p>“It's so hard to believe,” he whispered, tearfully. “I—my <em> brain</em>, I—I <em> can't</em>—”</p><p>“It's <em> okay</em>, Rich—”</p><p>“<em>No, it's not</em>!” Rich knew that this conversation was going in circles, but he couldn't stop—he kept vomiting out all of the feelings he'd ever had. He <em> needed </em> to let it out. “I—I'm <em> so </em> fucked up! It was so much easier just listening to <em> it </em> instead of myself! I can't stop thinking about everything I do wrong and the worst possibilities and I feel <em> numb </em> all the time and how worthless I am and how pointless life is and—” He choked on snot, only resulting in him crying harder. “I wish everything would just <em> stop</em>!”</p><p>Michael passed him a tissue tenderly, eyes filled with encouraging compassion. “It's okay, Rich. You can say anything you need to. Let it out.”</p><p>“I—” What else <em> did </em> he need to say? He wasn't sure—there was <em> something</em>, though, he knew there was <em> something</em>. The answer hit him before he could contemplate any longer. “I need to talk about the fire.”</p><p>“You don't have to tell me,” Michael reminded him gently. “It must've been awful, being forced to do that—”</p><p>“But that's just the thing,” Rich interrupted bitterly, <em> sorrowfully</em>, “I <em> wasn't </em> forced to.” Michael peered at him questioningly. Rich sighed, gritted his teeth, and confessed, “My SQUIP was off. It was all me.”</p><p>“Okay,” Michael said, softly. He didn't look angry or horrified or anxious—just <em> soft</em>, <em> supportive</em>. Rich had expected a bigger response, filled with yelling and resentment. He hadn't been prepared for <em> acceptance</em>. He swallowed, nervously. </p><p>“Alcohol messes it up,” he said, quietly. “I was drinking that night and I was so <em>tired</em> of <em>everything</em>. It all felt like <em>too much</em> and I <em>hated</em> <em>myself</em> and I <em>hated</em> that fucking <em>SQUIP</em> and <em>everything</em> was so<em> loud</em>.” He shook his head, trying to get the feeling of longing out of his head—he did <em>not</em> want it back, he <em>didn't</em>. “No one had any Mountain Dew Red and I was just so <em>done</em>. I somehow ended up in the garage and there was this gas can and...” He trailed off. Michael knew what was coming and he rubbed Rich's arm comfortingly. “I went upstairs, found an empty room, and doused myself with... yeah...” </p><p>“<em>Yourself</em>?” Michael asked, voice so small, so far away. </p><p>Rich nodded dismally. “If I couldn't get it out of my head, I figured... Destroy the host and it can't...” Another head shake, willing himself to not start another batch of tears. “I was just so <em> sad</em>, Michael... Nothing felt <em> worth it </em> anymore. Popularity and—and <em> chillness </em> and <em> happiness </em> didn't matter; <em> I </em> didn't matter. I didn't care that it would hurt, I just needed... <em> release</em>.”</p><p>“Oh, Rich... I'm—”</p><p>“<em>Don't say sorry</em>. I'm tired of you saying sorry for shit that wasn't your fault.” Michael clamped his mouth shut. Rich swallowed, shrugged, and looked down. “So. You asked how it felt. That's how it felt.”</p><p>Michael didn't say anything for a moment, obviously trying to find words that weren't just <em> ‘I'm sorry you had to go through that.’ </em>Rich watched him think. </p><p>“You're... really <em> strong</em>, Rich.” Before Rich could object, Michael pressed on confidently. “The fact you went through all that shit and you're still <em> here</em>, and you're still <em> sane</em>... Still <em> alive</em>...” They locked eyes; there was a tenderness in Michael's that Rich had never seen before. “You're <em> so </em> strong.”</p><p>A new, indescribable feeling laid comfortably between them—Rich could do nothing except blush. </p><p> </p><p>The times without Michael felt—</p><p>
  <em> like the entire room as growing and growing and growing and he was so small and everything was empty and he was empty and there was nobody there and he was alone and empty and alone and empty </em>
</p><p>—lonely. </p><p>Mahalina would chat with him when she had time, but she had other patients to attend to, of course. Michael <em> was </em> there more often than not—school and sleep and other friends were all things that still existed, though, and Rich couldn't fault him for either of those things. It was more than enough that he would spend his afternoons and evenings and weekends with Rich all the time, anyways. </p><p>No one else visited; Rich didn't blame them. Sure, Michael had <em> said </em> they all loved him and missed him, but actions speak louder than words, as they say. It made sense to him. He had ruined all of their lives. Why would they <em> want </em> to see him? </p><p>“Richard, <em> Nakaligtas</em>, I brought you lunch!” Mahalina sing-songed as she entered with a paper plate of mashed potatoes and turkey. </p><p>“Oh, thanks, Mahalina,” he said, smiling as he awkwardly sat up, crossing his legs and gingerly taking the plate. “Wow, fancy stuff,” he joked lightly, poking at the lukewarm turkey with his plastic fork. “Special occasion?”</p><p>“Thanksgiving is this weekend, <em> Anak</em>,” Mahalina said, cheerfully. She frowned for a moment, mumbling about white people and indigenous people and racial inequality, but quickly brightened up again and added, “But, the feast is good, yes?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Rich said, his mind elsewhere. </p><p><em> It was really Thanksgiving already? </em> He could never remember—he usually only knew because they'd get a long weekend from school. Now, as he stayed trapped in this hospital room, his concept of time had gone out the window. </p><p>“You must miss your normal holiday routine,” Mahalina said, placing a small container of gravy on his bedside table. </p><p>He let out a loud, bitter bark of laughter. </p><p>“Sorry,” he said, when the woman glanced sideways at him, “it's not really funny. I never did anything on Thanksgiving. My dad always drinks more than usual on holidays, so I spend them by myself, either locked in my room or out of the house. I have nothing to miss. This is more than enough, thank you.”</p><p>Mahalina looked like she wanted to say something, but simply nodded. “Call me if you need anything, <em> Nakaligtas</em>,” she said softly. He nodded and she left the room. </p><p>He stared down at his plate; suddenly, he couldn't find it in himself to eat. </p><p> </p><p>“Rich!”</p><p>Rich blinked blearily; he had fallen asleep sometime after he had forced himself to eat a few mediocre bites of his hospital food thanksgiving feast. He struggled to sit up, casts making it rather difficult. Finally, he was up and could see Michael at the doorway, grinning at him. He smiled too, albeit confused. </p><p>“Hey, Michael,” he mumbled, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Uh, what are you doing here at, uh...” He looked out the window—it was dark. “What time even <em> is </em> it?”</p><p>“Like, seven pm,” Michael supplied, after a quick glance at his phone. He plopped down next to Rich on his bed, smile never fading. “We're here to celebrate food with you!”</p><p>“I—wha?”</p><p>“Oh, in my house we don't celebrate Thanksgiving because, like, fuck white people, you didn't fucking discover America, you just murdered the indigenous people who lived here and—uh, sorry, digressing, but, anyways, we still have a Thanksgiving meal every year because my moms love to make food.” Rich squinted at him, still tired and not quite able to keep up with the other boy. “You told<em> Nanay</em> how you've never had a proper Thanksgiving meal, so she called <em>Umi</em> and me and we brought our feast to you! <em>Umi</em> is just waiting for <em>Nanay</em> to be on break and then they're gonna bring the food in.”</p><p>Rich stared at him in disbelief. “Wait, really?”</p><p>“Yeah, dude!”</p><p>“But I don't want to <em> intrude</em>—”</p><p>“I think <em> we're </em> the ones intruding actually?”</p><p>“But you must have other plans—”</p><p>“Nope. <em> Umi's </em> family live in Canada, so we already celebrated with them last month, and <em> Nanay's </em> family is <em> uber </em> catholic, so they cut themselves off from us because we're <em> filthy sinners </em> or what-the-fuck-ever.” Michael rolled his eyes. Then, he tilted his head at Rich. “Look, if you don't <em> want </em> us here, just tell me. Otherwise, we're <em> here</em>, because you deserve to have a happy holiday, no matter how fucked up said holiday is.”</p><p>“Fuck you, Michael, you're always making me cry,” Rich said, voice watery but smile large. “<em>Thank you</em>. This is—It's too much! Seriously, I don't—I ca—”</p><p>“Shut up, Rich,” Michael said, also smiling and bumping shoulders with the shorter boy playfully. “Let us love you, asshole!”</p><p>Rich laughed, blinking back tears and swallowing hiccups. This boy. <em> This boy... </em></p><p>“Richard!” Noor bounded into the room, arms full of tupperware and cloth grocery bags. She set everything down on a long table by the foot of his bed—how had he not noticed that sooner?—and then wrapped him in a hug. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”</p><p>“I'm doing good, thanks, Mrs—” She shot him a look and he amended, “Uh, I mean, Noor. Uh, Happy Thanksgiving?”</p><p>“Thank you, honey, and to you too.” She began to open containers and empty bags—Rich's eyes widened as he realized what a generous spread they had brought to share with him. “Hopefully you'll find something you like. Lina and I like to incorporate the classic, western holiday food, as well as our cultural cuisines. Tell me, have you had any Filipino or Moroccan food?”</p><p>“Uh, I don't think so.”</p><p>“Well, get ready to have your mind <em> blown</em>,” Michael said excitedly. “My moms make the <em> best </em> food in the <em> world</em>.”</p><p>“We just pay him to say that,” Noor said, keeping her composure until the last moment when her lips twitched into a smile. </p><p>Rich guffawed at that, sending Michael spiraling into giggles as well. The thought delighted him—his brain playing an image of Michael being slid money in a dark alley, or at the back of a Payless, all to compliment his mothers' cooking. Michael was shaking his head and covering his mouth as he shook with giggles, as though he had heard the joke many times over and never laughed anymore, yet cracked at Rich's reaction, still not wanting to give his mother the satisfaction of his laughter. </p><p>Noor looked between them, as if she knew some inside joke they didn't, then tacked on, as an afterthought, “I'm glad you two are getting along.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Michael said, expression softening as he looked at Rich, “me too.”</p><p>Finally, Mahalina entered the room, toting a <em> whole-ass turkey</em>. Rich gaped at her in amazement. She winked and set the platter in the centre of the table. Satisfied, she put her hands on her hips and turned to the boys. </p><p>“Now, who's ready to eat?”</p><p> </p><p>Long after visiting hours were over, as Mahalina and Noor were lugging the leftovers to their car, Rich and Michael still sat together, lounging on his hospital bed. Rich was tucked into Michael's side, drowsy, full of love and delicious food. He still didn't understand what he had done to deserve such generosity. He tried to stifle a yawn. </p><p>“So, good Thanksgiving?” Michael asked, quietly. His arm hung around Rich's shoulders lazily, fingers barely grazing his cast. </p><p>“Yeah. Best one ever.” Rich glanced up. “So, uh, what are you thankful for? That's something we're supposed to talk about, right?”</p><p>Michael chuckled softly. “I'm thankful for my moms. They're—well, they saved my life. If not for them, I might still be in some orphanage in the Philippines.” He smiled contentedly. “How about you? What are you thankful for?”</p><p>Rich paused. He didn't exactly have a lot to be thankful for these days. Except... His cheeks heated up. Still, he gave his answer. </p><p>“You.”</p><p>Michael stiffened. Rich bit his lip. <em> Backpedal, backpedal, backpedal</em>—</p><p>“And your moms! You guys have just been so, <em> so </em> generous and you make me feel—like—like, I have a <em> family</em>. So, thank you.” Michael still said nothing and Rich felt himself retreating further and further into his shell. “I don't know, this is weird, I'm sorry—”</p><p>“No, sorry, you just—” Michael was sitting up and taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes. “I'm just happy to be your friend, Rich. I'm happy we can help you. You don't deserve any of the shit you went through.”</p><p>Rich looked like he wanted to speak again, but then Mahalina was in the room again and was asking if Michael was ready to leave and—Rich shut his mouth. He forced a smile to his lips and nodded when Michael gave him a questioning look. </p><p>“Bye, Michael.”</p><p>Michael hesitated. Then, he whispered, “Bye, Rich.”</p><p> </p><p>Rich was engrossed in a book Michael had lent him—a graphic novel about some superhero named Mister Miracle, whom Rich had never heard of previously but was already invested in—when there was a timid knock on the door. He glanced up, expecting Mahalina or Michael or even Noor. His breath caught in his throat when he locked eyes with the figure. There was a moment where neither of them spoke, just stared with apprehension. Finally, Rich found it within himself to let out a whisper.</p><p>“Jake...?”</p><p>“Hey, Rich,” Jake said, awkwardly, gaze shifting around the room, looking anywhere but his friend. He coughed, then added, hastily, “Sorry this was a stupid idea I'm just gonna go—!”</p><p>“You came to visit me?” Rich hated how his voice cracked and he could feel a lump growing in his throat. “I thought you would hate me...”</p><p>“What? Of course not, dude! I mean, there was a few weeks where I was <em> mad</em>, yeah, but that whole SQUIP thing happened and Michael and Jeremy explained shit and I couldn't stay angry, y'know?” Jake sighed, a reminiscent smile on his face. “We've been through so much together... You're my best friend! I don't want to let a couple mistakes take that away. I know it might be awkward and shit for a while, but... If you'd be okay with it, I'd really like to stay friends.”</p><p>Rich choked on a sob, trying to play it off, though Jake seemed to realize what it was. “Yeah, Jake, I'd really love to stay friends. I'm sorry for—well, a lot of things, but mainly the whole, uh, ‘<em>burning your house down</em>’ thing. That was <em> majorly </em> messed up of me and I know I'll never be able to truly make up for it, but—”</p><p>“Dude, you're forgiven. We're good.” Jake hobbled forward on his crutches. Rich gestured to the seat usually occupied by Michael. “The money my parents have been transferring regularly has been enough to get me a basement suite and, uh, I was thinking that maybe you'd wanna, um...” Jake struggled to sit down, but managed, shifting his crutches so they leaned against the wall. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his lap before continuing, “I was wondering if you wanted to move in with me. Once you're out of here, obviously.”</p><p>“<em>Really</em>?” Rich asked, absolutely blown away at the request. </p><p>“Yeah! I mean, your home life's no big secret.” Rich shifted uncomfortably; it made sense that Jake would put the pieces together. Random bruises, never talking about his dad, never taking more than a few sips of alcohol, always looking for excuses to avoid his house... It didn't need to be announced when you spent almost every waking moment together. “I just want you to come out of this with a place you can feel <em> safe</em>.”</p><p>“Fuck, dude...” </p><p>He couldn't pretend he wasn't crying. Jake must've thought he was so pathetic. <em> Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic</em>—! </p><p>“Here, I got you, buddy.” </p><p>Jake passed him the tissue box on his bedside table, the soft smile on his face emanating pure understanding. Rich could've reignited his tears from that look alone. </p><p>“Th-thanks, Jakey D,” Rich whispered, grabbing a few tissues and blowing into one. <em> Ugh, he sounded like a dying goose. </em>“S-sorry...”</p><p>“Bro, never apologize to me for this shit. I've <em> seen </em> fucking <em> Inside Out</em>, you know? I <em> know </em> it's fucking important to experience your emotions.”</p><p>Rich couldn't help it—he let out a big, loud belly-laugh. His cheeks ached from his wide grin and he felt almost <em> normal </em> for once. </p><p>“Thanks... I'm just not used to being—well, being <em> myself</em>. Not that I was totally <em> not </em> myself before, I was just...” What <em> was </em>he like when his SQUIP was in control? More confident, more blunt, less sad... “I wasn't allowed to show emotions,” he concluded. “It didn't want me to seem weak.”</p><p>“That's what mine told me, too.”</p><p>Rich stared at him, alarmed. “You remember...?”</p><p>“Yeah. Only had it for, like, half an hour, tops, but I remember. It looked like Michael Jordan, told me it could fix me, and numbed my pain receptors. My legs were still broken, but I couldn't feel them. I didn't feel insecure anymore, either.”</p><p>“I am <em> so </em> so—”</p><p>“Don't say sorry, man, it's all good. Jeremy and Michael swooped in and saved the day and shit.” Jake leaned forward. “Rich... I'm not mad anymore, I forgave you, you're all good. I <em> promise</em>.”</p><p>He nodded, though he didn't quite believe it. He had set Jake's fucking <em> house </em> on <em> fire</em>. How could he ever be forgiven after that? He didn't say anything, not wanting to get caught in a loop of apologies and reassurances. Jake said it was good; why couldn't he just take him at his word? </p><p>“Dude. I can see you spiralling.” Jake's words pulled him from his own head. He looked down, embarrassed. Jake punched his shoulder gently. “It's cool if you don't believe it yet. I'm a patient guy, I'll be here when you're ready to believe it. Anyways,” he leaned back and smiled widely, “tell me about that book you were reading when I came in.”</p><p> </p><p>“That's awesome, Rich!” Michael almost hugged him—<em>almost</em>—then settled for patting his shoulder awkwardly instead. “I'm glad you'll have a place to go after you're out of here.” </p><p>“Thanks, Mikey,” Rich said, grinning to hide the fact he was mentally telling himself that he <em> wasn't </em> disappointed Michael hadn't hugged him. Why would he be disappointed about that? No, he was just... tired. </p><p>Michael seemed hesitant, but added, “You know, my moms were talking about letting you stay with us. Before Jake asked you, obviously.”</p><p>Rich should really stop feeling so taken aback at the Mell family's kindness—still, he gaped at the Filipino. “Really?”</p><p>Michael shrugged, as though it were nothing, though his cheeks had a darker hue than usual and he seemed to be attempting to hide as he sipped his slurpee, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head away slightly. “'Course. You know they love you, man. You'd be more than welcome.”</p><p>“And you?” Rich asked. Inwardly, he cursed the moment it slipped out. Michael raised an eyebrow; Rich figured he might as well continue digging his grave. “Do you, uh, love me?”</p><p>The silence that followed was the most uncomfortable event since they had first started talking, weeks ago. Rich hated himself. Why the fuck did he do that? What a fucking dumbass! Could he rectify this somehow? Shit, shit, <em> shit</em>—</p><p>“Yeah.” Michael coughed, then cleared his throat and said, again, “Yeah. Of course, I do, man. You're, like, uh, kinda like a brother to me.”</p><p>Right. A brother. Rich should feel flattered, honoured, overjoyed—as someone who had lost his only brother, to gain a new one should feel like a gift, right?—but he felt <em> wrong</em>. It didn't sit right in his head, or lungs, or gut, or <em> heart</em>. <em> Brother</em>. No, no, Rich had <em> experience </em> having a brother; Michael wasn't a <em> brother</em>. </p><p>Ray was overprotective and loud and riotous and outgoing and valiant and fiery and <em> dead</em>. Michael... <em> Michael </em> was a different story. Michael was passionate and considerate and excitable and soft and understanding and patient and so, so <em> alive</em>. Michael was so much <em> more </em>than a brother. Michael was... He was...</p><p>Michael was <em> Michael </em> and Rich loved him for that. </p><p>“Thanks, bro,” Rich said, feeling a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes. <em> What was wrong with him? </em>He sniffed and forced a smile. “That means a lot to me.”</p><p>“'Course, Rich... I'm—I'm <em> glad</em>.” </p><p>It sounded forced and Rich was spiralling and for the first time in weeks he <em> wanted </em> to be alone. </p><p>He made some weak excuse about being tired. Michael didn't seem convinced, brow furrowed, but complied with Rich's request. On his way out of the room, he looked back once, shooting him a worried look. Rich just gave a shaky smile. </p><p>Once he was out of earshot, he let out a quivering breath. What was <em> wrong </em> with him? </p><p> </p><p>Jake visited more often now, but Michael was still present the most. Their visits began to overlap and Rich was pleased to see they had started to bond. They discovered they both loved Pixar movies, and Space Jam, and Looney Tunes, and Michael Jackson. It was so cool, seeing two of his friends become friends with each other. </p><p>Until it wasn't cool anymore. </p><p>He <em> wanted </em> it to still feel cool, like when he had felt a sense of pride from being such a good platonic matchmaker, but then they started hanging out together outside of him and he felt very uncool. It's not like they <em> couldn't </em> hang out outside of hospital visits! In fact, he should be happy that he wasn't making them feel obligated to only hang out with him or something. But, his chest hurt anytime Mahalina mentioned that Jake was over at their house, or Michael smiled after getting a text from him, or Jake mentioned the movie marathon they were planning together. The worst part was that he didn't know <em> why</em>. </p><p>Why was this causing him pain? Why did his smile falter when they smiled at each other? Why did he get tense when he imagined them hanging out without him? Why did his heart pang when they left the room together? </p><p>He started wondering if it was something completely unrelated, so he decided he had to ask Mahalina about it. Just in case he was, like, dying or something, and projecting death-feelings on his best friends by mistake. He felt shame creep up his back when she chuckled after his description. </p><p>“Richard, dear, you're <em> jealous</em>,” she said, smiling warmly at him. </p><p>He stared at her in disbelief. “Jealous? Of what?”</p><p>“I believe you're the only one who can answer that question, <em> Anak</em>. But, if I were to guess,” her smile grew and she reached out to boop his nose playfully, “I would say you may be jealous of their closeness. Perhaps...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I cannot speculate any more than that. Just know that what you're feeling isn't dangerous or wrong.”</p><p>He nodded, still perplexed by the revelation. “Okay. Thanks, Mahalina.”</p><p>Long after she left, his mind remained on the idea of jealousy. What was he jealous of? Their budding friendship? He was already just as close with both of them individually as they were becoming with each other. That explanation didn't fit, not quite. So, what was it? </p><p>He recalled his strange feelings about Michael calling him a brother the other day. Thinking about <em> Jake </em> as a brother didn't make him want to vomit. What was different about <em> Michael</em>? What was it about Michael Mell? What made Michael so different?</p><p>Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael,<em> Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael—! </em></p><p>“Shit.”</p><p>Rich stared blankly at the wall. How had he not seen it before? This was the boy who caused his bi awakening and he hadn't connected the dots? What a fucking idiot he was. There was only one explanation for everything he was feeling. </p><p>“I have a crush on Michael.”</p><p>Allow him to reiterate: <em> shit</em>. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Uhhh so first of all, I don't like Thanksgiving as a holiday, but I do like the food and also seeing my extended famjam, so there's that, but like please respect Indigenous people and their land that we fucking STOLE??? Anyways. Mahalina and Noor love feeding their son and his friends 😌✨ </p><p>Also, yes, Canadian Thanksgiving is in October, and idk when in November American Thanksgiving is and I was too lazy to look it up, but 🤷 c'est la vie. </p><p>What else do I need to say, uhhhhhh idk!!! So I'm gonna sign off!! Thank you all for reading and also thank you SO much for your lovely comments last chapter? I legitimately am so so happy that you enjoyed it, hopefully you equally enjoyed this chapter!!! </p><p>Again, kudos, comments, and bookmarks make my heart swell 💜 ~Jayce</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Set Ablaze</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter took a lot longer to write than the other ones and I'm sorry but hey!!!!!! Exciting stuff happens in this one!!!!! Hopefully you all enjoy it!!!! 💜💜💜</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Now that he knew about his own feelings, the logical next step was obviously to suppress them. </p>
<p>He couldn't risk losing Michael as a friend, not <em> now</em>—not after everything he'd done and said in the past, not after they'd bonded so much. It was already a miracle they were even friends; he couldn't fuck it up now. So, he was going to ignore his newfound feelings and definitely act completely normal. Not that he really knew what normal looked like for him... </p>
<p>He had finally gotten the rest of his casts off and now that he had full access to his hands and arms, he wasn't sure what to do. He was so used to just sitting in bed all day and doing nothing that he almost forgot he was <em> allowed </em>to do other things. So, when Michael bounded into his room (with a nervous wreck of a Jeremy in tow) and demanded they go to the game lounge, he was noticeably shocked. </p>
<p>“Oh, yeah, man, sorry—I shouldn't have just assumed it was okay for Jeremy to join us,” Michael said awkwardly, completely misinterpreting Rich's hesitance. </p>
<p>“N-No! Sorry, I was just, uh, surprised is all! Jeremy's totally welcome,” Rich assured him quickly, cheeks ablaze. He hoped his burns would cover that up. </p>
<p>“Oh, cool!” Michael was grinning widely now. “They've only got a Wii, <em> but </em> they have Wii Sports Resort, which is always a blast. I can school both your asses at bowling.”</p>
<p>“In your dreams!” Rich retorted, throwing his blanket off and shakily getting to his feet. </p>
<p>It was weird, standing again, after being sediment for so many weeks. Michael rushed over to offer his arm. Rich smiled gratefully. He was also glad he had gotten dressed that morning, instead of lazing around in his hospital gown like he usually did; thinking back, Mahalina had suggested it and she probably knew the boys were coming to visit him. He leaned his weight onto Michael, staggering for a bit before finally getting into the groove of movement again. </p>
<p>The game lounge was just down the hall from his room. It was a room with a balcony, a TV, a couch, a couple armchairs, a few bean bag chairs, a kitchenette, and video games—Michael explained that it had been funded by his grandfather, when he learned that the hospital his daughter-in-law worked at didn't have a space for youth to chill out. Unacceptable, he'd claimed, since they were the ones who would need a place for relaxation and fun the most out of anyone in a hospital. So, he had donated to make it happen. What used to be one of the employee break rooms was now the Tauseef Alaoui Lounge. </p>
<p>“And that's why I love Mama's side of the family,” he finished, plopping down on the sofa. </p>
<p>“They're the, uh, not homophobic ones, right?” Rich asked, scrunching his nose as he tried to remember what Michael had said at Thanksgiving. </p>
<p>“Yep! I don't get to see them that often though because they're up in Canada,” Michael said. He glanced up at Rich, who was still standing awkwardly, obviously unsure of where he was welcome to sit. Michael patted the couch cushions. “C'mon, man! Sit down, stay a while!”</p>
<p>Rich smiled nervously, tentatively sitting next to the Filipino. Jeremy had already turned on the game and fallen back into a bean bag, doing a goofy dance as the Wii Sports Resort theme played. Michael gently tossed Rich a Wii remote and then chucked another one at Jeremy with an accompanying, “<em>YEET!</em>” </p>
<p>Jeremy laughed as he shielded his face. “Dude!” He rubbed his arm where the remote had hit it. “That's definitely gonna leave a mark. You're lucky we're already in a hospital.”</p>
<p>“You're fine, you big baby,” Michael teased, starting up the game and immediately selecting Bowling. “We gotta start with me proving my Wii Bowling Prowess™.”</p>
<p>“Did you just say ‘<em>TM</em>’ out <em> loud</em>?” Rich asked, letting out a bark of laughter. </p>
<p>“You know it, baby!”</p>
<p>Rich felt like his entire body must've gone red from the pet name. It was spoken jokingly, along with goofy finger guns, yet he couldn't seem to convince his brain to categorize it into the <em> platonic </em>section. He stared intently at the screen; he hoped neither boy had noticed his reaction. </p>
<p>Michael won the first game—surprisingly, he wasn't just claiming to be a “Wii Bowling King” for comedic effect—and Rich won the next one they played, wake-boarding. Michael pretended to be upset throughout the entire game as Rich consistently scored higher than he did, but he hugged Rich tightly when he won. Before they could start their next game (the dog frisbee one, solely because Jeremy was obsessed with the dogs), Michael took a bathroom break. </p>
<p>In the meantime, Jeremy looked over at Rich and said, quietly, “So. <em> Michael</em>, huh?”</p>
<p>“Huh?” Rich pretended he wasn't aware that his voice raised an octave as he spoke. “What about Michael?”</p>
<p>“You and him,” Jeremy said, as though that cleared everything up. “You like him.”</p>
<p>“Well, yeah, of course—”</p>
<p>“<em>Like </em> like.”</p>
<p>“‘<em>Like like</em>,’ what are we, in Kindergarten?” Rich scoffed in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. <em> Jeremy knew.  </em></p>
<p>“You can't hide it from me,” Jeremy said. “It's written all over your face, dude.”</p>
<p>“Oh god, does <em> Michael </em> know?”</p>
<p>Jeremy shook his head; Rich breathed a sigh of relief. “He's oblivious. I think most people are, to someone's feelings towards them, y'know? Like, I can see it because you're not looking at <em> me </em> that way, but I guarantee if you liked <em> me</em>, I'd have no fucking clue. I'd be too busy either ignoring or second-guessing all the signs.” </p>
<p>“<em>Mood</em>.” Rich glanced back out the door—Michael was still out of sight. “You won't, um, tell him, right?”</p>
<p>“Of course not. That's not my secret to share.” He leaned back on his chair. “You and him—<em>I never thought I'd ever say this in my entire life, but</em>—you'd be good together.” Rich spluttered, covering his face with his hands. Jeremy laughed. “If nothing else, you're a really good friend to him. Better than I've been lately.”</p>
<p>Rich peered at him through his fingers. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“It's no secret I haven't been hanging out with him as much recently,” Jeremy said. “I mean, I don't think he's mad or anything, but everything is different now. I'm doing therapy half the time and the other half I'm just trying to get used to this new friend group we all have. And,” he added, blushed slightly, “Christine and I started dating.”</p>
<p>“Oh, hey! That's awesome, man!”</p>
<p>“Thanks!” Jeremy beamed, but there was hesitance in his eyes. “I can tell that Micah feels left out, though. So, yeah, anyways, I just kinda wanted to say thank you for being a good friend to him while I'm figuring shit out and stuff.”</p>
<p>He looked ashamed and Rich frowned. “Dude, you're still his best friend, you know that, right? Just because you both have more friends than each other now doesn't mean you're a bad friend or whatever. Like, it was just you two for so long, it'll take getting used to, having a group, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, it's just anxiety, y'know?” Rich nodded sympathetically; he was relearning the art of second-guessing literally everything he said and did. His expression soured as his mind yearned for the feeling of certainty. Jeremy seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he added, “That's the part that makes me miss it the most... It always knew what I needed to say, to <em> do</em>, and I never had to question anything...” He gave Rich a grim smile. “Sometimes it's hard to remember how fucked up it actually was.”</p>
<p>“Yeah...” Rich stared at his lap, fiddling with the strap of the Wii remote around his wrist. “Uh, you don't have to answer this, but, uh—” Rich swallowed, hoping he wasn't overstepping any boundaries. “What did yours present itself as?”</p>
<p>“Keanu Reeves,” Jeremy said, chuckling morosely. “It was fun discovering the PTSD associated with his face—I had a panic attack when I saw my dad watching <em> The Matrix</em>.” Rich chuckled along, though he knew it wasn't funny. What else could they do? Jeremy cleared his throat and parroted Rich's question back to him. Rich hesitated; Jeremy retracted it immediately. “Sorry, dude, if it's too personal, I totally get it—”</p>
<p>“It looked like my dead older brother.” Rich couldn't meet Jeremy's eyes; he couldn't bear to see the horror and pity that would inevitably reside there. “But,” he added, trying to lighten the mood, “its default mode was Kermit the Frog. Almost wish it kept that one, heh.”</p>
<p>His half-hearted laugh didn't garner any laughter from the other boy. Jeremy gently said, “Rich... I'm sor—”</p>
<p>“<em>Don't</em>. You didn't do anything. It was all that shiny happy hivemind.” Rich glowered at his hands—the hands that had accepted that pill years ago. “That motherfucker knew what would make me listen—make me <em> obey</em>—and used it. I should've tried to get rid of it way sooner than I did.”</p>
<p>Before Jeremy could give a response, Michael skipped back into the room, shouting, “All right, who's ready to rumble?” and Rich turned his attention back to the television. Jeremy frowned, but didn't press. </p>
<p>The soundtrack of the game transitioned their thoughts away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was at a club—or maybe a trampoline park?—and it was loud and bright and colourful and every one of his senses were overwhelmed. He pushed his way out of the building, the neon lights swirling in his vision, the smell of weed and alcohol clouding his mind. As soon as he was outside, inhaling a deep breath of cold air, he felt himself calming. Panting still, he sat on a ledge, clutching his clothing tightly, grounding himself. </p>
<p>He was fine. He was <em> fine</em>. </p>
<p>“Hey, Rich.”</p>
<p>Michael was approaching him—he felt his face flush immediately—and stood in front of him casually. He mumbled out a greeting, hoping his red face wasn't obvious in the dark of the night. Michael stuck his hands in his pockets. </p>
<p>“This party kinda sucks.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Rich agreed, brain suddenly recalling the reason behind the event. </p>
<p>They were celebrating, the entire school, the fact they got through the semester so far. He couldn't remember exactly who had planned the occasion, or why, but everyone who attended Middleborough was here and then some. It <em> had </em> to be a trampoline park; no responsible teacher would allow a few thousand teenagers to go to a club. <em> Baller trampoline park</em>, he thought, glancing through a window at the colourful lights flashing and pop music blaring. </p>
<p>“Glad I found you,” Michael said, leaning against the ledge as well, eventually hopping up to sit next to him. “I have something I want to talk to you about.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Rich said. He couldn't stop staring at Michael's hands; they were <em> big </em> and <em> strong </em> and <em> soft</em>—</p>
<p>“I really like you,” Michael said, cocking his head to the side adorably with a sly grin and matter-of-fact tone. Rich gaped at him in disbelief. “I've been too nervous to admit it for a while, but I can't keep it inside anymore. I think I'm in love with you, Rich.”</p>
<p>“I think I'm in love with you, too!” Rich said quickly, scooting closer. Was this really happening? <em> Oh god, oh god, oh god</em>— “I've liked you for so long I was scared you'd hate me if you found out—”</p>
<p>“Never,” Michael whispered, leaning in. </p>
<p>Rich swallowed and said, voice shaky, “I've never kissed anyone before. Not really, not without the SQUIP guiding me. I'm scared I'm gonna suck.”</p>
<p>“It's okay. I'll love you anyway.”</p>
<p>And their lips connected. It wasn't fireworks or slow motion or dramatic—it was just soft and quiet and quick and <em> Michael </em> and <em> Rich</em>. He let out a sigh of contentment as soon as Michael pulled back. His eyes fluttered open and the Filipino was smiling. </p>
<p>“That was so nice.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Rich breathed, tempted to chase the other boy's lips again. Michael was still smiling and then he was speaking and Rich couldn't hear him. “Michael?” His own voice was far away as well. “M...ha...l?”</p>
<p>The transition from feeling nothing to feeling bed sheets surrounding his heavy limbs was gradual. He barely recognized that he had been dreaming for a long time. He laid in bed, entire body sinking into the thin mattress, feeling gravity pulling him down, down, down, and his brain was foggy, the memory of his fantasy becoming patchy and blurred. </p>
<p>It felt like hours of laying, groggy and still half-sleeping, before he blinked blearily, eyelashes obscuring his vision. He was still in the hospital, still burned, still single. He grimaced; it had felt so <em> real </em> for a moment, even when he now realized it most certainly wasn't, he had thought for a moment that he and Michael had really kissed. But no, he was just a hopeless loser with no chance. </p>
<p>He groaned aloud, rubbing his face tiredly. Great, now he was thinking about what it would be like to kiss Michael, to hold his hand, to sit with him so close... </p>
<p>Crushes were the <em> worst</em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You look out of it,” Jake said, as he hobbled into the room. </p>
<p>(Every time Rich saw him with his crutches, he felt waves of guilt—<em>he </em> had done that to him, it was <em> his </em> fault his friend was so severely injured—but Jake had berated his self-deprecation enough times that he had long since ceased voicing his guilt aloud.)</p>
<p>“'M just tired,” he said and it wasn't a total lie. </p>
<p>After his vivid dream the night before, he hadn't been able to fall asleep again. To get his mind away from the idea of kissing Michael, he had resorted to homework. <em> Homework</em>! Truly, desperate times. He flipped to the next page in his math booklet that Michael—<em>Michael</em>—had retrieved for him, chewing on the cap of his pen, expression screwed up in thought. </p>
<p>“Didn't sleep well?” Jake navigated his way onto the chair he had practically claimed as his own. (Whenever they were both visiting, Jake took the chair and Michael would sit on the bed with Rich, and he was sure they did it solely to <em> torment him</em>—)</p>
<p>“Something like that. Hey, dude, do you—?” Rich turned to face him, about to ask a question about order of operations—<em>he always forgot the stupid acronym</em>—but Jake was smiling at him knowingly and he did not like that one bit. “<em>What</em>?”</p>
<p>“I was hoping I'd still be the guy you'd come to about crushes,” Jake said, “but it's good to know you're still transparent as ever, Richie boy.”</p>
<p>“<em>Crush</em>? What do you mean, <em> crush</em>?” Feigning confusion was harder than it sounded; his eyebrows were too furrowed and his frown was forced and he couldn't make eye contact. “I don't have a crush. Nope. Crush? What's that? Never heard of it.”</p>
<p>“<em>C'mon</em>, bro. It's painful how obvious you are. I can tell when you're pining.”</p>
<p>Rich sighed, dropping his head into his hands. How come everyone could see through him? His skin was made of glass, with the name <em> MICHAEL </em> illuminated in neon lights within his head. What if Michael could see it, too? He couldn't fathom the idea. </p>
<p>“So?” Jake asked, leaning forward eagerly, waggling his eyebrows. “Who's the lucky lady?”</p>
<p><em> Oh</em>. </p>
<p>Rich's heart dropped in his chest, his hands shook, sweat formed on his brow as he realized this awful predicament—Jake thought he had a crush on a <em> girl</em>. He forgot that his friend didn't know he was bi (in fact, looking back, he had really only told Jeremy; oops) and wouldn't ever assume that his crush was on a boy due to the heteronormative culture they grew up in. What if Jake was <em> homophobic</em>? They had never discussed sexuality before, and Rich's SQUIP had made him say all kinds of homophobic things as jokes, to maintain his popularity, so that left him with two worries: that Jake though <em> he </em>was homophobic (highly likely), and that Jake himself was homophobic (also a possibility). </p>
<p>“Uh, that girl, Bea, in math class,” Rich said quickly, looking back down at his worksheets. She <em> was </em> cute, that much was true, but she wasn't <em> Michael</em>. “She's smart <em> and </em> pretty. The whole package, y'know?”</p>
<p>Jake grinned, seeming to believe his fib. “Nice! She's been worried about you, actually. Maybe I'll put in a few good words, eh?”</p>
<p>Rich nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Jakey D.” He swallowed, stomach churning as he felt the lie swimming inside him. “Uh, anyways, what's the acronym again?”</p>
<p>“Oh, BEDMAS? Brackets, exponents, division, multiplication, addition, subtraction,” Jake listed, clapping Rich on the back and somehow not feeling the guilt that oozed out of his pores. “You got this, dude. I'll keep you updated on Bea.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, bro.” Rich itched at a burn on his arm—a newly discovered nervous tic of his—and added, “How about you? Any girls you got your eye on?”</p>
<p>“Nah, not right now. After Halloween and the SQUIP stuff—oh, sorry, Rich—” Rich cringed in remembrance and Jake hurried on. “I kinda decided to take a break from hook-ups and dates and shit. I just wanna survive high school.” He shrugged, then his signature grin returned. “But, if I <em> do </em> get the hots for anyone, you'll be the first to know!”</p>
<p>Rich tried to chuckle, to act like everything was normal, but he knew Jake wasn't convinced. Neither boy commented on it, though. The silence that followed didn't feel natural—still, they accepted it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hospital visit was almost over—only a few more days now!—and all four of the boys were in the game lounge, playing Super Smash Bros Brawl. As Michael and Jake ferociously battled, progressively getting more competitive, Rich and Jeremy, who were already out, were having their own hushed conversation. </p>
<p>“Why did I hear from Jake that you like <em> Bea from math class</em>?” Jeremy asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before they fell. “I mean, you look at Michael like he's—he's—<em>I don't even know</em>—like he's the best thing you've ever seen in your life!” He glanced up at where the other two boys were yelling and laughing as their fight came to a close—he lowered his voice. “I mean, obviously you're allowed to have multiple crushes at once, don't get me wrong, but, like...” He made a vague gesture. “Y'know?”</p>
<p>“He figured out I had a crush on someone and asked who the lucky <em> girl </em> was.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Jeremy fidgeted in the seat, keeping an eye on the tallest of their friends. “Well... I'm sure that was just him assuming, he's probably not, uh, y'know.”</p>
<p>“Maybe. I'm just...”</p>
<p>“Scared,” Jeremy supplied and Rich nodded. </p>
<p>“I feel like I just got him as a friend, like, a <em> real </em> friend, since I didn't know him before I was—before the <em> pill</em>, and so this feels like an entirely new thing, y'know? Even though it's not, not really.”</p>
<p>“He's met Michael's moms,” Jeremy added, abruptly, “and he <em> loves </em> them. And he <em> knows </em> that Micah's gay—he <em> literally </em> wears it on his sleeve—and he's friends with him.”</p>
<p>“I guess...” Rich felt warmth flooding to his face. His fears were pretty stupid, weren't they? Jeremy must think he's so pathetic, such an idiot, so—</p>
<p>“Hey, I'm not saying your anxiety isn't valid,” Jeremy said, softly. He must've seen the look on Rich's face. Rich hated forcing Jeremy to feel pity and feel the need to assure him with lies... “Rich, it's okay that you're afraid of telling Jake. Coming out isn't easy and there's no rule that says you have to come out all at once or anything. I'm only trying to encourage the anxious part of your brain that its logic is unfounded—I'm not saying that you should be ashamed for being anxious or you should've just told him everything already. I'm on your side, okay?”</p>
<p>He didn't deserve this sympathy, not from Jeremy, not from <em> anyone</em>—he was such an awful person, he didn't deserve compassion or love or forgiveness or—or—</p>
<p>It was too late to hide it once he realized he was crying. Before he could swallow it, a choked sob escaped his throat. Michael whipped around immediately at the noise and was kneeling in front of him in an instant. Rich only started crying harder, thinking about how he didn't deserve Michael and would never deserve him. </p>
<p>“Rich, hey, can you hear me?” Michael asked gently. Rich did hear him, but couldn't respond, shaking with tears. He felt Jeremy carefully get off the couch and lead Jake out of the room; Rich wasn't sure if he was more relieved or distressed that he was alone with Michael. “Can I touch you?”</p>
<p>He managed a nod. <em> Not sexual, not sexual, not sexual, goddammit Rich chill the fuck out— </em></p>
<p>Michael placed a hand on his knee, squeezing tenderly. “How's that?” Another nod. “Can you try to breathe with me?” He shook his head rapidly. He was going to die, his lungs were going to <em> combust</em>— “Just <em> try</em>?”</p>
<p>So, Rich tried. </p>
<p>
  <em> Inoutinoutinoutin </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Out in out in out in out  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> In... </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Out... </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> In... </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Out... </em>
</p>
<p>His eyes stung and he squeezed them shut, his throat ached, his nose was plugged, but he could breathe again. Michael, still with his right hand resting on Rich's knee, lifting his left to Rich's upper arm, rubbing it encouragingly. </p>
<p>“Hi,” Michael said quietly, smiling gently. Rich realized he was staring directly into Michael's eyes and averted them immediately. “Do you know what triggered that?” Rich shrugged, still avoiding eye contact. “Do you really not know or do you just not want to talk about it?” He shrugged again, but he felt his cheeks burn. “That's fine, Rich.” </p>
<p>Michael reached up and wiped a stray tear from his cheek, letting his hand linger there, thumb brushing the burn scar by his jaw. Rich swallowed, eyes flickering back to Michael's face; his expression was unreadable, staring at Rich with his mouth open slightly, as though he were about to speak but the words got caught in his throat. Their eyes met and Rich was a deer in the headlights, unable to look away. He licked his suddenly dry lips, trying to catch his breath again—where had it gone? He had barely gotten it back—and dug his fingernails into the skin of his palms. Was this real? Was this <em> happening</em>?</p>
<p>“You guys okay?” Jake's voice sounded muffled and faraway, concern etched in his tone. Rich could see his head poking through the doorway in his peripheral vision.  </p>
<p>Michael was the first to break free of their trance, pulling away abruptly. His hands were gone, his gaze shifted, his body language was showing clear embarrassment—Rich had made him so uncomfortable, he was such an awful person, he needed to get out of here, he needed—<em>he needed</em>—</p>
<p>“I'm sorry!” Rich blurted, standing up and pushing his way out of the room. </p>
<p>He vaguely heard Michael call his name, then Jeremy and Jake as he stumbled past them as well, new tears streaming down his face as he berated himself. The halls all looked the same and the entire hospital felt like it was swaying and spinning and he couldn't remember where his room was and he was going to <em> vomit</em>—</p>
<p>He managed to find his way into a bathroom and locked the door behind him, stumbling to the toilet bowl and leaning over it. After a few minutes and his lunch still sitting safely within the confines of his stomach, he groaned, hugging his midriff aggressively, fingers digging into his sides. He could barely comprehend what had just happened. His heart was beating fast and his hands were shaking and he slashed his nails across the burns on his arms. He needed to feel anything except the guilt that burned within him. </p>
<p>He was a candle, a guilt-ridden flame engulfing him, burning him, melting him, leaving only a mess of wax and the remnants of a charred wick in his place. Part of him—<em>a tiny, dirty, morbid, secret part of him that he hid away</em>—wished he had a match right now, to finish what he had started a month ago and leave the world behind. He clung to himself, fingernail imprints covering his shoulders as he longed to feel something, <em> anything</em>, apart from the misery eating him alive. He was hopeless, hopeless, <em> hopeless, HOPELESS</em>—!</p>
<p>He couldn't breathe, he needed to breathe. He was fine. (<em>Was he fine?</em>) He tried to steady his breathing on his own. (<em>In, out, in, out, in, out</em>.) He was <em> fine</em>. (<em>Right?</em>) (<em>In out in out in out</em>) Michael and Jake and Jeremy were his <em> friends </em> and they <em> cared </em> about him. (<em>Maybe</em>.) (<em>Inoutinoutinout</em>) He was FINE. </p>
<p>HE WAS FINE!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Waking up on the bathroom floor after hyperventilating oneself into fainting was <em> not </em> a pleasant feeling, he found out. It hadn't been long, a minute at the most, but he was disoriented and sweaty and still wanted to cry. He shook and could barely support himself, struggling to push himself back into a sitting position. He felt wet and gross and hated himself—he could never leave this bathroom again, he had made such a fool of himself—</p>
<p>“Richard?”</p>
<p>Mahalina. Of course, she'd be coming to check up on him. Michael probably told her everything, she probably hated him, he'd ruined her son's life—</p>
<p>“Richard, are you all right?” she called again, rapping her knuckles gently against the heavy door. </p>
<p><em> I'm fine! </em> he wanted to say, but his vocal chords didn't seem to be working. The woman knocked lightly and called his name for a third time. He curled into a ball; he couldn't face her. He couldn't face <em> anyone</em>. </p>
<p>Then, after the jingling of keys and the click of a lock, Mahalina was crouched next to him, arms enveloping him tenderly. He felt sick again, knowing he was manipulating her into feeling sorry for him. He didn't deserve her pity. She was too kind—he needed to stop taking advantage of her kindness. He couldn't pull away though, his insides yearning for the loving embrace of a mother. <em> He was so fucked up</em>. </p>
<p>“Noor is taking the other boys home,” Mahalina said, softly, “unless you wish for any of them to stay?”</p>
<p>Rich shook his head rapidly. He couldn't force any of them to stay, he had already done enough to them—they deserved better than him. He didn't deserve anyone. </p>
<p>“All right, <em> Anak</em>.” Mahalina kissed his temple; he melted into the touch. “You're all right, <em> Nakaligtas</em>. You are so strong.” Another gentle kiss. “I'm so proud of you.”</p>
<p>He didn't have the energy to refute her lies right now. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <code>Hello Richard.</code>
  </em>
</p>
<p>His eyes burst open, immediately sitting straight up in bed, skin drained of colour. No, no, no, it couldn't be—</p>
<p>
  <em> <code>It's been a while, hasn't it? </code></em>
</p>
<p>Raymond Goranski stood before him, with that same teal tint and glitchy outline that haunted Rich's memories. The same crossed arms, crooked smirk, floppy emo haircut—Rich shook his head. It wasn't real. It <em> couldn't </em> be real. </p>
<p><em> <code>Oh, but I assure you, it is.</code> </em> The SQUIP sauntered around to the edge of his bed. <em> <code>Did you really think you could get rid of me, Rich? </code></em></p>
<p>“This is a dream,” Rich whispered, shaking his head still, gripping his hair. “It's a bad dream. It's not real.”</p>
<p><em> <code>You are pathetic,</code> </em> SQUIP-Ray spat, laughing mockingly. <em><code> Look at yourself. Scarred and weak—you really think any of these people you call friends actually care about you?</code> </em></p>
<p>Rich shook his head, despondently. Of course, he didn't believe that. But, they <em> said </em> they did...</p>
<p><em><code> Lies. All lies. They want to be good people now,</code> </em> SQUIP-Ray used air quotes as he said this, rolling his virtual eyes, <em> <code>so they pretend. Good people are kind to the burned bully, right? But they don't actually care. Why would they? You ruined all of their lives.  </code></em></p>
<p>Yeah... He <em> has </em> ruined their lives... He'd burned Jake's house down, bullied Jeremy into getting a SQUIP, and Michael... He had done <em> so </em> much to Michael...</p>
<p><em> <code>You need me, </code></em> the SQUIP said, seductively. Rich looked up at it again; he could see right through it, right out the window. <em><code> You need me to guide you.</code>  </em></p>
<p>“No,” Rich choked out, still gazing at the window. His floor was high up, the window wouldn't be hard to open...</p>
<p><em> <code>Oh, looking to escape? </code></em> Ray scoffed. <em><code> You always were a coward, Rich. You'd rather choose a permanent solution than let me help you? I could make you happy! </code></em> Rich bit his lip. <em><code> Richard, you know you crave happiness—acceptance—and I can provide that! All you need to do is— </code></em></p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>“Obey.” Rich knew the spiel. “Listen and obey...”</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <code> Exactly. Then, everything about you will be wonderful! People will like you, you'll be happy! </code>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>He shook his head—he couldn't do anything besides shake his head desperately—he couldn't go back to what he used to be, he <em> couldn't</em>. </p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <code> But you can. And you want to. We all just want to be happy, don't we, brother dearest? </code>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>“<em>You're not my brother</em>,” Rich said, trembling frightfully as the figure closed in on him. The hologram was so close now, he could see every detail, every freckle, every hair, every glitch. “You're just a machine.”</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p><em><code> Hm. I suppose you're correct. </code></em> Its form shifted and Rich's eyes widened in terror as it took on the appearance of a hauntingly familiar female, one he could barely remember for himself, only known by broken photographs that lined the walls of his house. <em><code> Is this better, darling?</code> </em></p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>His dead mother caressed his cheek. He couldn't feel the touch physically, and an eerie chill ran down his spine—it triggered a jolt within him, as flashbacks of electric shocks raced through his brain. The SQUIP hadn't actually shocked him, yet he felt as though it had. </p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p><em><code> I can't shock you anymore,</code> </em> the SQUIP said, lip curving in disgust. It clearly wanted to and Rich gripped at his sheets. <em> <code>That idiot boy and his idiot friend and that idiot drink has weakened me significantly. But, I will never be gone. I will always be here. You will never fully escape me. </code></em></p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Please, no...</em>
</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p><em><code> Listen to your mother, boy! </code></em> Its face contorted monstrously; he shrunk back, feeling tears well in his eyes. <em><code> Without me, you are nothing!</code> </em> It calmed down, a sickeningly sweet smile coating its face. <em><code> Repeat after me, Richard: everything about you is so terrible.</code></em></p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>He bit his lip. </p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>
  <em><code> Repeat it, Rich. You know it's true. Admitting it to yourself will be like a weight being lifted. Repeat it.</code>  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>“Everything about me is so...”</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>
  <em> <code>Finish it, Richard. You know you want to. </code> </em>
</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>“Everything about me is so... <em> so</em>...”</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>“Rich!”</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>Rich whipped his head around to face Michael, who barreled into the room, panting heavily and leaning on his knees. </p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>
  <em><code> Ignore him, Richard.</code> </em>
</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>Don't block him, <em> don't block him</em>—</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>
  <em><code> I cannot, not in my weakened state... It is imperative that you do not listen to him, though.</code>  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>“Rich, are you okay?” Michael asked, fretfully. He approached the bed quickly, grabbing the shorter boy's shoulders and looking him up and down worriedly. Rich felt his mouth dry up. </p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>“I...” <em> <code>Tell him you're fine. </code></em>Rich shook his head. “No, I—I'm not.”</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>“It's back, isn't it?” Before Rich could ask how he knew, he continued, “Jeremy's was back, too. I—I needed to make sure you were okay, I—” He tugged Rich into a tight hug, and Rich could almost swore he heard his voice waver. “I was so worried about you.”</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>Rich wanted to hug him back, to thank him, to believe that he cared—</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>
  <em><code> He doesn't really care about you. He's here to feel better about his own pitiful life.</code>  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>“Here.” Michael had pulled away and yanked a bottle out of his hoodie pocket. “Drink this. Everything's gonna be okay, Rich.”</p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>Rich looked down at the bottle. <em> Mountain Dew Red</em>. His eyes stung as the salty tears slid down his cheeks. </p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p><em><code> Do not drink that, Rich, you need me, you need me to be happy! </code></em> The computer's image shifted back to his brother. <em> <code>Listen to me! </code></em></p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>Rich twisted the cap off with shaky fingers. </p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>The SQUIP changed forms again, this time his father. <em><code> Do not drink that, Richard! </code> </em></p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p>He lifted the bottle to his lips slowly, quivering. </p>
<p>
  <code></code>
</p>
<p><em> <code> RICHARD GORANSKI! </code> </em> Kermit the Frog. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p><em><code> RICH! </code></em>His mother. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p><em><code> RICHARD!</code> </em>Jake. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p><em> <code>RICH!</code> </em>Brooke. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p><em> <code>RICH GORANSKI! </code></em>Jeremy. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p><em><code> RICH! </code></em>Ray. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p><em> <code>RICH!</code> </em>Chloe. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p><em> <code>RICH!</code> </em>Jenna. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p><em> <code>RICH!</code> </em>Keanu Reeves. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p><em><code> RICH!</code> </em>Christine. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>He tipped the drink back, ready to swallow its contents. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p><em> <code>DON'T DO THIS! </code></em>Michael. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>He made direct eye contact with the facade dressed as his best friend and allowed the red liquid to stream down his throat. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>And the world was quiet once again. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>Rich let out a breath. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>He was okay. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>He was free. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>He—</p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>He <em> wasn't </em>alone. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>He looked over to Michael, tears still staining his cheeks, and he was surprised to see the other boy's face mirrored his own. He nearly reached out to wipe Michael's tears, then remembered how uncomfortable he had made him the other day and he halted. Eye contact didn't break, though. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>“I'm so sorry,” Rich whispered, “about the other day.”</p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>“Why?” </p>
<p>
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    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>Rich didn't know why he sounded so shocked. “I—because I made you uncomfortable and then ran away?”</p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>“<em>What</em>?” Michael pushed his hair back. “No, no, I made <em> you </em>uncomfortable! I let my stupid crush get the better of me and—”</p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>“What?” Rich's voice turned into a mere whisper, staring into Michael's eyes. <em> When had he gotten so close? </em> “Stupid crush?”</p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>“Not—not <em> stupid</em>,” Michael amended quickly, misinterpreting Rich's question. “<em>You're </em> not stupid, not even a little bit! I—<em>I'm </em> just stupid, for being so—for being the classic idiot gay who fell for the straight boy—!”</p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>Rich almost didn't register the fact that <em> he </em> was the one who initiated the kiss, but he definitely knew he was the first to pull away. It had been the nicest moment—nicer than it had felt in his dream—and he wished it never had to end. But, this was real life and he had overstepped about a million boundaries and was probably losing Michael as a friend and <em> he needed to apologize</em>. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>“Uh, I, uh—” He swallowed, unable to make eye contact. “Not straight,” he mumbled, cheeks hot. He cleared his throat, wiping his eyes. “I, uh, I'm not straight. Sorry. I'm sorry. That wasn't—I'm sorry.”</p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>Michael—sweet, beautiful, kind, wonderful, super, fantastic, Michael—hesitantly, slowly, tenderly placed his palms on Rich's cheeks, inching forward. Rich couldn't breathe. Michael licked his lips, eyes darting down from Rich's eyes to his lips and back to his eyes. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>“Could I—” He swallowed, leaning down—closer, closer, closer. “Could I do that again?” His glasses were askew, but his eyes were trained solely on Rich. “Rich... Could I kiss you?”</p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>He didn't have words. Actions spoke louder, anyways. He leaned up, nodding. Michael gently connected their lips, Rich melted into his arms, and both felt adoration bubbling up within them. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
<p>If perfection could be put into a singular feeling, it would be this. </p>
<p>
  <code>
    <code></code> </code>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WOO YES OKAY I'M IMPATIENT SO THEY'RE TOGETHER NOW THEY'RE IN LOVE BOIS YES!!!</p>
<p>Hmmm I have so many things to say, but also nothing, so I'm just gonna say that realism? Who's she? 😌✨</p>
<p>Oh also the dream Rich has is literally based almost exactly on one I actually had about MY crush wHOOPS so yeah (I actually have two crushes, but I've only had dreams about kissing one of them so yeah idk what that means man)(and recently idk if I even like either of them romantically or if I just want to be in love and they're both like genuinely good guys and I recognize that they would both individually be quality boyfriends??? I literally have no clue what's happening in my brain Ever)</p>
<p>Kudos, comments, bookmarks mean the world to me~!! Thank you for reading, I love you all individually, thank you for supporting my procrastination from writing my original novel by writing this fanfiction 😂 ~Jayce</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Sparks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THEY'RE!!!!!! IN!!!!!!! LOVE!!!!!!!! 😍😭💜</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Michael and Rich stood together in his hospital room, waiting for Jake to arrive to take Rich to his new place. He was finally discharged, moving in with his best friend, and holding hands with his secret boyfriend—Rich Goranski's life was finally looking up. </p><p>“You feeling ready?” Michael asked softly, rubbing his thumb lightly over Rich's hand. </p><p>Rich nodded contentedly. “Yeah. I still think it's all too much, but no one will let me say no, so—”</p><p>“You deserve it all,” Michael said firmly. “Rich. You <em> do</em>.”</p><p>Not only had Jake offered up a room in the basement suite he was renting, but Michael had bought Rich a bunch of new clothing and essentials, so that he wouldn't need to go back to his father's house, <em> and </em> Mahalina and Maahnoor had gotten Rich a new cellphone, since his old one had been lost in the fire, <em> and </em>Jeremy and his father were pitching in to help Rich pay for counselling. He still had feelings of somehow unintentionally manipulating everyone and being completely undeserving of such generosity, but Michael was always quick to shut down those thoughts with a kiss to the temple and loving whispers. </p><p>After the SQUIP incident, after they had kissed, they tentatively entered a relationship. Rich wasn't ready to tell anyone yet and Michael reassured him it was okay, that he could take as long as he needed, that he would be there for him no matter how long it took—so they kept their new relationship status hidden for now. Rich couldn't believe how lucky he was to have his feelings reciprocated and his boyfriend—<em>boyfriend!</em>—was so patient with all of his hesitance and fear. </p><p>“<em>Nanay </em> wants you to come over for dinner soon, by the way,” Michael said, swinging their linked hands playfully. “She tried to argue for tonight, but <em> Umi </em> and I told her you'd probably want to get settled in. I don't think we'll be able to hold her off for longer than a week, though.”</p><p>Rich chucked, leaning against Michael's side happily. “Sounds good, Mikey.”</p><p>“Still want me coming with you today?”</p><p>Rich glanced up at him. “Uh, yeah, why wouldn't I?”</p><p>“I don't know. Just making sure. It's okay if you change your mind.” Michael shrugged. “Like, y'know, if you're worried about Jake catching on or whatever.”</p><p>“Nah. You're coming,” Rich said, squeezing his hand tighter. They shared a smile. </p><p>“Richie G!”</p><p>Rich yanked his hand away and grinned at Jake. “Jakey D!”</p><p>He didn't miss the disappointment flashing across Michael's face before he shoved his hands in his pocket. He felt so conflicted, wanting to grab Michael's hand again, yet fearing what Jake might say more. </p><p>“You ready, bro?” Jake asked, grinning at them both, not seeming to have noticed the fact they had awkwardly stepped away from each other. “You coming too, Mike?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Michael said, nodding. He fiddled with his headphones cord, wrapping it around his fingers. “It'll be cool to see your guys' place!”</p><p>“Cool.” He nodded, turning to Rich. “You ready?”</p><p>Rich glanced at Michael; he smiled encouragingly. Rich took a deep breath. This was the start of a new chapter for him. </p><p>Rich nodded—he was ready. </p><p> </p><p>The suite wasn't too large—two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a small open concept kitchen-living room—but it was cozy. Their front door, if you could call it that, was actually in the backyard, though they had a second ‘front door’ that led upstairs to the main house. The landlords were a newlywed couple (Brian and Luna), who were shockingly chill with two high schoolers renting out their basement suite. After Jake's parents paid them, like, <em> a lot </em>of money upfront, Rich guessed it wasn't hard to convince them they'd be able to keep up with rent. He and Jake were planning to find jobs, obviously, but it was nice to have at least a few months already paid for. </p><p>Jake had already met them, but they came out to meet Rich in person as well (and, by extent, Michael). They were nice—shook both their hands with big smiles and made pleasant conversation, asking about school and hobbies. Rich learned about their jobs and their cat—Bobby—and their plans to have children in the future. He nodded politely and responded when prompted, hoping he was making a good impression. It seemed that he did, as they nodded and smiled and eventually left the boys to their own devices. </p><p>“They were nice,” Michael commented, chewing the straw of his slushie—(they had stopped for 7Eleven on the way)—and Rich frowned. He knew that to be one of his boyfriend's nervous tics. What was wrong? </p><p>“Yeah, and they said that we could have friends over whenever we want, as long as we keep it down,” Jake said, leading his friends into the suite. Rich looked around the living-kitchen area; it was very bland, all neutral tones and sparse decoration. “It'll feel more like home once we start decorating ourselves a bit,” Jake said, heading down the hall. “My room is looking okay so far—oh, this one's yours, Rich!”</p><p>Rich peered through the open doorway. It was barren, with only a bed, nightstand, and dresser. With the blinds half-closed and the grey sky peeking through, it looked sad. His shoulders slumped. </p><p>“I'm kinda jealous,” Michael said, which Rich couldn't understand at first, since Michael's room was basically his entire basement, but then he continued. “It'll be so fun to get to decorate and make this place your own! I redid my room a couple years ago and it was a blast.”</p><p>Rich gave him an appreciative smile, knowing he was trying to cheer him up; Michael bumped shoulders with him, a quiet reminder that he was there. His room looked drab now, but it wouldn't forever. </p><p>Jake's room was definitely more him than Rich's, though he had already been living there for a couple weeks, so he'd had the opportunity to decorate. It wasn't much, just a few posters, photographs, and a houseplant, but it was nice. Very Jake, Rich decided. Soon, his room would be <em> him</em>, as well. </p><p>Jake excused himself to go to the bathroom, saying they should play some Xbox once he was back, and as soon as he was out of the room, Michael turned to Rich. His hand flexed, as though he wanted to reach out, but he didn't. Instead, he just smiled awkwardly and whispered, “You have a nice room, Richie.”</p><p>“I guess.”</p><p>“Look,” Michael finally did take Rich's hand, dragging him back across the hall to look at his empty bedroom again, “it's spacious and has a pretty big window for a basement room.” He released Rich's hand to walk further into the room. Rich missed the touch. “The closet has a lot of space too—that reminds me, we'll need to grab your clothes from the trunk at some point. Ooh, and look, there's room for a desk if you wanted, and maybe a nice rug here, if you'd be into that—”</p><p>Rich laughed at the Filipino's enthusiasm. “You'd be a great interior decorator.”</p><p>“Shit, sorry, I mean—” Michael faced him again, blushing. “It's <em> your </em> room, I don't mean to—I just wanted to throw out ideas—”</p><p>“No, no, no,” Rich grabbed his hands, smiling gently, “I really like that, Michael. I—I <em> like </em> that you're excited for me and want to help. I...” He paused, expression softening further, if that was even possible. “I <em> want </em> you to help me. I want you to be a part of this. If you want,” he tacked on hastily, suddenly feeling nervous. Was he being too—?</p><p>“I'd love to help. Thanks, Rich.” He pressed his lips to Rich's forehead. “You still get full creative control, but I'd like to offer ideas and help set things up.”</p><p>“Maybe we could get one of those fucking strings of lights, like Brooke has in her room,” Rich said, staring at wall above his bed thoughtfully. </p><p>“Fairy lights?” Michael smiled lopsidedly. “Yeah, sure.” He chuckled softly, poking Rich in the side. “You're cute, Richie.”</p><p>Rich wasn't sure whether to reply with flustered indignation (<em>“Am not!”</em>), awkward flirtation (<em>“Not as cute as you.”</em>), or tentative gratitude (<em>“Thanks, Mikey.”</em>), but he was saved from having to make a choice when they heard the bathroom door open. He jumped back, cringing when Michael sighed quietly. He was still smiling, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Rich was an awful boyfriend, shit, Michael deserved so much better—</p><p>“You guys ready?” Jake's voice reverberated down the hallway. </p><p>“Yeah, we're coming!” Michael called back, then, in a whisper, added, “It's okay, Rich. <em> I'm </em> okay.” Rich nodded, and Michael nudged him gently. “C'mon. Let's play some video games with Jake.”</p><p> </p><p>Rich couldn't fall asleep.</p><p>It should've been easy. Being in a warm, safe, comfortable bed, knowing that Jake was just across the hall, far away from his father—yet, here he was, lying in bed alone, in the dark, staring at the popcorn ceiling. He felt numb. He didn't want to move; his limbs were cement, weighted stiffly by his sides, feeling unnatural and corpse-like. </p><p>Finally, he forced his arm to reach out to the bedside table, fumbling with his new phone. “<em>Fuckin'</em>...” He grumbled, managing to hit the power button. The screen was too bright and he squinted blearily at it. He managed to turn the brightness down. <em> 2 am</em>. He groaned with a quiet resignation. Thank fuck it was Sunday tomorrow (today?) so he didn't need to wake up for school. Ugh, thinking about school only made him want to curl up under his covers and never leave. He sighed, pulling a hand down his face. “Dammit-fuck...”</p><p>
  <b>mikey💓💞💗💘💖</b>
</p><p>
  <em> hey r u awake? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <sup> delivered • 2:14 AM </sup> </em>
</p><p>The moment he sent the message, he felt terrible. What if he woke Michael up? Michael didn't want to hear from him at an ungodly hour in the morning—he probably didn't want to hear from him <em> at all</em>, why would he ever—?</p><p>
  <b>mikey💓💞💗💘💖</b>
</p><p>
  <em> hey r u awake? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> lol yea </em>
</p><p>
  <em> playing aotd haha </em>
</p><p>
  <em> omg </em>
</p><p>
  <em> do not fuvking judge me richard </em>
</p><p>
  <em> wait y r U awake???  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> r u ok? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> cant sleep </em>
</p><p>
  <em> idk whyyyy 🙃 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <sup> seen • 2:17 AM </sup> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> mikey💓💞💗💘💖 is typing... </em>
</p><p>Rich watched the conversation thread with bated breath. Now that he knew Michael was already awake, he was eager to talk with him. It was a better alternative to laying around by himself. </p><p>Then, the phone was vibrating violently in his hands and Michael's contact name lit up across the screen. <em> He was calling? </em> Rich felt a wave of nerves sweep over him, but answered without hesitation. </p><p>“Mikey?” he asked quietly, not wanting to wake Jake. </p><p>“Hi,” Michael said, tone soft and fond. “How are you feeling?” </p><p>“I don't know,” he admitted, pushing himself into a seated position and pulling his knees to his chest. “I just feel, like, numb? I don't know...”</p><p>“It's okay if you don't know.” Just hearing Michael's voice calmed him; he savoured every syllable, soaking up the affection that emanated from it. “Hey, I wanted to ask if you would be okay going out tomorrow,” Michael added, tenderly. “Just me and you?”</p><p>“Like, a date?” Rich's heart was beating vigorously at the idea. </p><p>“Like a date,” Michael confirmed. “We haven't gone on an official one, just hung out in your hospital room and kissed a bit and shit. I was thinking we could just do something low-key, so no one would know. But if you don't feel comfortable with that yet, I totally understand—”</p><p>“Yes,” Rich interrupted, beaming. “Yes. I'd love to go out with you tomorrow.” He paused, then, in a rush, added, “I'm definitely not ready to tell anyone though or be open about it, but that's not because of you or anything, I'm just nervous and working through my own shit I guess and—”</p><p>“I get it, Rich.” He could almost <em> hear </em> Michael smiling. “Maybe we could just grab food and have a picnic or something? Just something small. I just—” His voice lowered even further, abashed. “I really, <em> really </em> like you, Rich. I want to—I mean, I just—I like spending time with you.” He let out a small breath. “I genuinely am <em> so </em> into you.”</p><p>Rich wasn't sure how to respond at first. He needed to say <em> something</em>, though. He blurted, “I put, like, five hearts by your name in my phone!”</p><p>He could imagine Michael blinking in surprise before he giggled. “You're so cute, Rich. I only have three by yours. But, they're the bi colours!”</p><p>It was such a small thing, but Rich felt his breath hitch in his throat. “Really?”</p><p>“I—yeah, of course. I—I really like you, like I said. I care about this stuff.”</p><p>They were both silent for a moment. Privately, Rich thought he might be able to fall in love with Michael already. He'd never say that aloud, though—it was too soon, too early, too <em> much</em>—he couldn't risk overwhelming their relationship when it had barely even started. But he certainly <em> thought </em> it. </p><p>“Are you feeling tired, yet?” Michael asked, gently. Rich was, still he didn't want the call to end. </p><p>“Uh, not yet,” he lied, even as he snuggled back under his duvet. “I think we should keep talking. I-If you're okay with that!”</p><p>Michael chuckled softly. “Yeah, course, Rich.” Rich heard him shuffling around, then he asked, “Wanna hear this song that my mom used to sing to me when I was a little kid?”</p><p>Rich nodded, then remembered Michael couldn't see that. “Sure.”</p><p>“It's a parody of a song from a musical, actually. Uh, she'd sing it to me at bedtime.” Michael cleared his throat, then began to sing. “<em>Micah mahal, Micah mahal, you're my beautiful baby... Hear my call, Micah mahal, mahal kita, my baby... Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow, bloom and grow forever... Micah mahal, Micah mahal, you're my beautiful baby...</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Rich woke up at 11 am, with his phone still in his hand and three unread text messages. </p><p>
  <b>mikey💓💞💗💘💖</b>
</p><p>
  <em> u fell asleep, so i ended the call ❤️💜💙 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> cant wait to see u 2day! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> if u still want to (its fine if u dont ❤️) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <sup> 2:46 AM </sup> </em>
</p><p>Rich smiled softly. God, how was he so lucky? </p><p>
  <b>mikey💓💞💗💘💖</b>
</p><p>
  <em> u sang me a damn lullaby ofc i fell asleep smh 🙄 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> but yeah ofc i still wanna go! 😍 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> what time were u thinking? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <sup> delivered • 11:24 AM </sup> </em>
</p><p>He stretched and forced himself out of bed. If he and Michael were going out today, he should probably get ready. He opened his dresser, where he and Michael had organized his new selection of clothing the day before. </p><p>His eyes were immediately drawn to a sweater that Michael had shoved into his arms with flushed cheeks before he had gone home. “<em>It's an old sweater of mine—it's not, like, gross or anything, I washed it and stuff—but, um, I don't wear it much anymore and I thought you'd look good in it, so, uh, yeah!</em>” Then, he'd glanced around and, upon seeing no one, kissed Rich on the forehead quick, before ducking into his car, grinning with embarrassment and fondness. </p><p>Rich unravelled the sweatshirt and found that it had no words or pattern; it was just a dusty rose-coloured pullover sweater. He tugged it on and held the collar to his face, inhaling the scent of Michael's laundry detergent. An enamoured smile spread across his face as it dwarfed his body. He had never understood why Chloe loved wearing Jake's hoodies when they were dating, until this moment. </p><p>He grabbed a pair of jeans and some striped socks to complete his outfit, and grabbed his phone (still no reply from Michael) to head out to the bathroom. Jake waved to him from the kitchen table.</p><p>“Morning, sleepyhead!” Jake called, teasingly. Rich walked over to him, leaning on the chair across from him. Jake looked him up and down, grinning. “Dude, nice outfit.”</p><p>Rich tried not to blush. “Thanks, man.”</p><p>“Anything on your agenda for today?” Jake asked, sipping his coffee and glancing back down at the chemistry homework he was working on. </p><p>“Uh,” (Rich glanced down at his phone—still no new notifications) “I think so. Michael and I might hang out.”</p><p>“Cool, bro!” Jake flipped to a new page in his textbook. “I'm glad you two are such good friends!”</p><p>“Uh, yeah...” <em> Good friends. </em>Yep. Sure, Jake. “Thanks, Jake.” </p><p>His phone buzzed and he sighed with relief. <em> Finally.  </em></p><p>
  <b>mikey💓💞💗💘💖</b>
</p><p>
  <em> 12:15? or is that too soon? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> not soon enough! haha </em>
</p><p>
  <em> cant wait to see u!!!! 😚 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> mkay 😘 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> im gonna start driving now </em>
</p><p>
  <em> see u soon richie ❤️💜💙 </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <sup> 11:37 AM </sup> </em>
</p><p>Rich couldn't contain his gigantic grin and he twirled around to go to the bathroom before Jake could notice. If he did, he'd<em> definitely </em> know Rich was texting someone he <em> liked </em> and he wasn't ready to tell anyone it was Michael. So, he pocketed his phone and began to brush his teeth. </p><p>Humming, he thought about Michael and wondered what their date would entail. During their early morning chat, he had said something about a picnic. That would be nice—he could see himself and Michael, lounging on a checkered blanket with a wicker basket between them, pinkies linked as they just enjoyed being together. He wondered if Michael fantasized about their date too...</p><p>He caught his own eyes in the mirror and frowned. At the hospital, he had avoided mirrors as much as he could; now he was reminded why. He clenched his jaw, staring at his burn scars. There were two notable patches on his face, leading down his neck, scattered across his chest and arms, with his lower half being the least affected. He rubbed the rough skin; how could Michael ever like <em> him</em>? </p><p>A knock on the door made him jump. “Rich!” Jake called. “Michael's here!”</p><p>Rich gripped the rim of the sink, swallowing. He had to move. He had to go see Michael. He couldn't ruin their date before it even started. He needed to pull himself together. </p><p>“Rich?” Quieter than Jake, Michael tapped his knuckles against the wood. “Can I come in?”</p><p>Rich couldn't speak, he couldn't bring himself to open his mouth—</p><p>Michael gently pushed open the door, closed it behind him, and cautiously put his hands on Rich's shoulders. “Rich? What's wrong?”</p><p>“I'm <em> ugly</em>!” Rich blurted, along with a choked sob, unable to keep it inside. “I—I—I'm so f-fucking <em> broken </em> and u-u-<em>ugly</em>! Y-You deserve someone s-s-so much b-<em>better</em>!”</p><p>“Hey.” Michael's voice was so warm, and he pulled Rich into a comforting embrace, rubbing his back lovingly. “Rich, you are <em> not </em> ugly, not in the slightest. Or broken. You're <em> gorgeous</em>. And these?” Michael brushed his fingers over a burn scar on his cheek. “These don't change that. They just show that you're <em> strong</em>. That you <em> survived</em>.”</p><p>“They just show that I'm <em> fucked up</em>,” Rich hiccuped, burying his face in Michael's chest. “I hate them. I hate <em> myself</em>.”</p><p>Michael tightened his grip around his boyfriend. “Well... <em> I </em> don't hate you.”</p><p>Rich continued crying, unable to see what Michael saw. He was <em> disgusting </em> and <em> ugly </em> and <em> broken </em> and <em> fucked up</em>—</p><p>“You know how <em> Nanay </em> calls you <em> Nakaligtas </em>sometimes?” </p><p>Michael's voice was so soft Rich almost hadn't heard him. He sniffled and nodded, glancing up at the Filipino. Where was he going with this? </p><p>“Did she ever tell you what it means?” Rich shook his head; Michael wiped away his tears. “It means <em> survivor</em>. She calls you that because you survived, because you're strong, and because she's proud of you.” </p><p>Rich stared at him in awe. Did Mahalina really think that about him? Was she really <em> proud </em> of him? Michael's hand was resting on his cheek, thumb rubbing his scar gently. </p><p>“Well, guess what?” Michael smiled at him endearingly. “You're <em>my</em> <em>Nakaligtas</em>, and <em>I'm</em> proud of you for surviving, Rich. Your scars just show me how hard you fought to survive and reminds me how glad I am that you did.” He leaned in—a pause to ask for silent permission—and kissed Rich gingerly. His eyes were full of admiration when he pulled back. “I know it's hard to see for yourself, but I'm proud of you anyway.”</p><p>“I don't deserve you,” Rich murmured, leaning against Michael's chest again. </p><p>“Yes, you do.” Michael kissed his head. “Do you still want to go out, or are you too drained? It's okay if you are.”</p><p>Rich considered this. “I <em> want </em> to go out with you,” he said. “I just don't feel like I <em> deserve </em> it.”</p><p>“Well, you <em> do</em>,” Michael insisted. He peeled himself away from the shorter boy, though he intertwined their fingers. “C'mon. Let's go have fun!”</p><p>Rich wiped his eyes, sniffling, but gave his boyfriend a smile. A quick kiss later, he let Michael lead him out of the washroom. Their hands disconnected before Jake could notice. He eyed Rich worriedly. </p><p>“You okay?” he asked, cautiously. </p><p>“Yeah, uh, I just...” Rich hadn't thought up an excuse. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at his feet shamefully. “I, uh...”</p><p>“Just his scars were irritating him a bit,” Michael piped up, smiling. “He was a bit worried, but I just reminded him that it was normal and he was okay.”</p><p>Jake nodded, accepting the white lie. “Good! Glad you're feeling better, bro. Have fun today.”</p><p>“We will,” Rich said, linking his pinky with Michael's at an angle Jake couldn't see, a silent thank you for the save. “Later, Jake.”</p><p>Jake waved them off and they rounded the house, pushing out of the gate, heading to Michael's car. Rich clambered into the passenger side and exhaled shakily. He hadn't realized how tight his chest had been until he relaxed into the seat. Michael sat in his own seat, looking over at Rich with a slight frown. </p><p>“Still good?” Rich nodded, pulling on his seatbelt. Michael mimicked his action, then reached for his hand over the centre console. “If at any point you want to go home, we can, okay? Your feelings matter more to me than any date.”</p><p>God, Rich didn't deserve him. “Okay.”</p><p>“Oh, and by the way,” he twisted the keys in the ignition, grinning broadly, “you look really cute.”</p><p>His cheeks burned, Michael laughed, they squeezed hands, and all was right in the world. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god, are you serious?” Rich barely managed to get his words out through fits of laughter. “<em>Three years in a row</em>?”</p><p>“Yeah!” Michael was giggling as he relayed his story as well. “I still can't believe he <em> actually </em> did it. Uncle Fez is the <em> best</em>.”</p><p>“Your family sounds chaotic in the absolute best way possible,” Rich wheezed, as they finally calmed down. “Is your uncle's name actually <em> Fez</em>? It just makes me think of the hat, no offense.”</p><p>Michael chuckled. “Nah, it's short for Fayez. He chose that nickname one hundred percent on purpose, to be goofy; Mama says he was always a clown and likes to feed into his ‘youngest sibling energy.’”</p><p>“I wish my family was anything like yours.” Rich didn't mean to make himself sad, but as soon as the words had left his mouth, his face fell. Michael noticed.</p><p>“I wish I could change things for you, Rich... It's not fair that you went through so much abuse and neglect for so, <em> so </em> long...” Michael reached for Rich's hand across the blanket they were sitting on. “You're out of that situation now, though. Even if your dad's a piece of shit, you still have <em> so </em> many other people in your corner.”</p><p>Rich shot him a sad smile, tightening his grip around his fingers. “Thanks, Mikey...” Rich refused to let himself spiral again, not while they were having such a lovely time. He scooted closer to the other boy. “I'm having a really good time, by the way.”</p><p>“Me too,” Michael said softly. He pulled Rich's hand that he was holding to his lips, planting a tender kiss to his knuckles. “I'm really, <em> really </em> happy right now, Rich.”</p><p>Rich felt his lips curve into a dopey grin. Hearing that from Michael was better than any other sentiment he could imagine. He pushed the plastic bag full of food out of the way, moving closer still, until he was pressed against Michael's side, thighs touching. </p><p>“I never want this to end,” Rich whispered, leaning his forehead on Michael's shoulder. “I don't think I'll ever be as happy as I am now.”</p><p>Michael kissed his head, ruffling his hair fondly. “Mhm. Well, I want to make you this happy every day. You deserve to feel like this forever.”</p><p>Rich tilted his head up; Michael kissed his gently. Rich sighed with contentment. “If you say so.”</p><p>“I do.” Michael released his hand to cup his cheeks. “You're a good person, Rich, and you've been through so much pain—you deserve to be happy forever and ever.”</p><p>“Shut up, you're gonna make me cry,” Rich whined, burying his face in Michael's chest. </p><p>Michael chuckled, rubbing Rich's back comfortingly. Rich snuggled closer, allowing himself to be pulled into Michael's lap, dwarfed in a doting embrace. Everything in his life felt so small, so insignificant—his past mistakes, his future anxieties—all of it was nothing compared to Michael's warmth. They were the only two people in the world and Rich relished in that intimacy. Nothing and no one else mattered right now, just two teenage boys very much in love. </p><p> </p><p>They planned to pop by 7Eleven before returning to Rich and Jake's place. Rich folded up the blanket they had been sitting on while Michael gathered their discarded trash, scanning the area for a garbage can. Rich hummed happily as he tucked the blanket under his arm, taking Michael's free hand and swinging it playfully. Michael grinned at him and they set off, embarking back onto the path back to the parking lot. </p><p>It was nearly 5 pm and the sun hung low in the sky, setting rapidly. Rich shivered, leaning against Michael as they walked; it was warm for the early days of December in New Jersey, but the approaching winter liked to make itself evident. They stopped to get rid of their trash (Michael carefully separated the organics from the recyclables from the waste), then got into the PT Cruiser. Michael grabbed Rich's hand again as soon as they were both buckled and the car had been started, smiling at him in a way that made his stomach do somersaults. </p><p>“Do you think we should grab something for Jake too?” Michael asked, pulling up to the street. He looked left and right, turn signal blinking patiently. “It's almost dinner and I can't imagine you two have many groceries.”</p><p>“Sure, sounds good,” Rich agreed, watching the passersby. To think there were so many people who were unaware of what love he shared with the boy next to him... He smiled to himself. It was such a precious gift to have. </p><p>The ten minute drive to the convenience store proceeded with a comfortable silence, Michael's right hand resting over Rich's left, thumb rubbing over it gently. Such a tender moment couldn't possibly be real—Rich wondered if he was actually still in the hospital, still in a coma, imagining everything from the past few weeks—but then, they were turning into the parking lot and Michael's hand was gone and they were exiting the car and it was still real. Rich took Michael's hand again as soon as he could and Michael giggled, squeezing it fondly. </p><p>Upon entering the store though, he yanked it away. Jenna Rolan looked up from where she stood boredly at the cash register and smiled at them both. “OMG! Michael, Rich! It's so great to see you!”</p><p>“Great to see you too, Jenna!” Michael replied instantly, grinning. He bumped Rich's shoulder as he approached the counter, a silent acknowledgement of his anxiety, a way to say it was okay without speaking aloud. “I didn't know you worked here!”</p><p>“Yeah, I started over the summer,” she said, leaning forward. “But that's not important right now—Rich is out of the hospital!” She looked so happy to see him; he had no idea why. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Um—” Michael was nodding encouragingly at him and his throat was dry and Jenna was smiling and <em> he didn't deserve this</em>— “I'm good,” he said, practically forcing the syllables off of his tongue. He nodded, awkwardly. “I'm fine. Uh, yeah.”</p><p>She chuckled. “Well, I'm glad! We've all been really worried about you!”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>He didn't mean to ask, it just slipped out. He couldn't imagine anyone being worried, not after everything he'd done. </p><p>“Yeah, of course! I mean,” Jenna sighed, looking downcast now and Rich could feel her honesty coming, where she admitted that he had hurt her (true) and he deserved to die in that fire (also true)— “I spread some pretty shitty rumours about you when it first happened and that was wrong of me. I'm really sorry about that.”</p><p>He blinked. <em> She </em> was apologizing to <em> him</em>. </p><p>“I'm sorry!” he blurted, propelled forward a few steps by his determination to try to make things right. “I—I was such an asshole to you for so long and I chased you around and made fun of you and barely listened to you and ignored you and—and I don't deserve to be forgiven!” He was <em> not </em> going to cry in front of Jenna, he would hold in these tears until the day he died. “I'm—I—I'm <em> so </em>sorry, Jenna.”</p><p>Jenna rounded the counter and hugged him tight. <em> Don't cry don't cry don't cry</em>— He let himself sink into her embrace; it was so purposeful and supportive, like she was a solid foundation for him to open himself up to, to let himself breathe for a moment. </p><p>“Rich, you've been forgiven since the play,” Jenna whispered. “We all experienced it—we know how hard it is, how much you went through—and we forgave you. You're free now and you're obviously amending for what you did under its command. You don't need to apologize anymore.”</p><p>He didn't cry—he was on the brink, but he managed to keep it inside—and he allowed himself to believe her words, even for a mere moment. Once they finally released each other, they both smiled gratefully. He whispered a small, “Thank you,” and Jenna nodded, going back to her post. </p><p>“I told you,” Michael said, so only Rich could hear. He had said, many times over, how much the rest of the group had missed him and worried about him; Rich had never entertained the thought until now. </p><p>“Jake said you're roomies now,” Jenna said, turning the conversation away from apologies. Rich nodded. “That must be fun.”</p><p>“Yeah—I mean, it's literally only been a day, but so far so good, ha...”</p><p>It was her turn to nod now. “Good. Oh, sorry, are you guys here for anything in particular? I'm being a shit employee right now.”</p><p>Michael chuckled. “Nothing specific, just something that would qualify as dinner and some snacks.”</p><p>“We're the only people here, I think you're good,” Rich added. “Oh! Wait, do you have any Ben and Jerry's?”</p><p>“That we do! Freezer in the back.” She nodded to the back of the room. “I'll let you guys browse and find your stuff, but I'm here for whatever!” </p><p>They thanked her and headed back to the freezer. Michael gave Rich an excited smile. Rich wasn't sure why, until Michael pulled out his phone casually, typing something rapidly. Rich's phone vibrated moments later and he nearly laughed out loud. Michael texted him? He shook his head fondly and looked down at his screen. </p><p>
  <b>mikey💓💞💗💘💖</b>
</p><p>
  <em> hokyshit!!!!!!!!!! rich im so fuckig proud of u!!!!!!!!! u werent expdcting to see jenna and u were anxious and u difnt let it conteol u!!!!!!!!  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <sup> 5:08 PM </sup> </em>
</p><p>Rich looked back up to Michael. He was perusing the ice cream idly. Rich didn't reply to the text—it wasn't <em> that </em> big a deal, was it?—though he did link pinkies with his boyfriend for the briefest of moments. They locked eyes—Rich, blushing and so, so grateful, and Michael, looking so goddamn <em> proud</em>, and the softest eyes Rich had ever seen. Fuck, if Jenna weren't literally, like, eight feet away... </p><p>They managed to get through the rest of their shopping without casualty, politely chatting with Jenna as she rung up their items, and ended up back in Michael's car only half an hour later. As soon as they were seated, Michael pulled Rich into a tight hug. Despite his gut being stabbed by the centre console and his hips twisted uncomfortably, Rich didn't let go. </p><p>“Seriously, I'm so proud of you, Richie,” Michael said, breath tickling his ear. Rich tightened the hug, sniffling. “You are so incredible. That was so big.”</p><p>“Not really,” Rich mumbled, voice muffled as he tucked his head in the crook of Michael's neck. </p><p>“Yeah, it was! You were put into an unexpected, unpredictable situation, you kept your cool, and came out the other side still standing! That's fucking hard to do, Rich, and you did it.” Michael released him slowly, fingers lingering along Rich's arms. “You're so brave and strong... So, <em> so </em> strong...”</p><p>As Michael said this, the floodgates of his boyfriend's eyes opened. He held Rich's hand as he wept, smiling encouragingly and whispering, “It's okay, let it out, Richie...” Rich felt so contrary to everything Michael had just said, as tears streamed down his face. He hadn't stopped his anxieties, only delayed them. But he was calming down, and Michael was still here, and maybe he was right, and maybe everything was okay. </p><p>“Thanks,” Rich murmured, looking back up at his boyfriend. “I... I feel like there are so many things in my head and I don't know what to say or do.”</p><p>“That's okay.” Michael kept their hands intertwined. “You don't need to know.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“Do you want to stay sitting for a bit, or go back home?” Michael asked, softly. </p><p>“Home,” Rich replied. Before Michael could lean back and start the car, Rich pulled him forward for a kiss. “Thank you for today, by the way. You—I—this was so nice. Thank you.”</p><p>Michael grinned, kissing him again. “We'll need to do it again soon, then.”</p><p>Rich nodded, warmth in his chest growing. He and Michael were still staring, drinking up the beauty of their partner. Unable to resist, they shared one more kiss, smiling into each other's lips. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay so things: </p><p>Michael and Rich are in love. Yes. </p><p>The song that Mahalina used to sing to Michael, which he then sang to Rich, is a parody of Edelweiss from Sound of Music bc my parents sang a parody of Edelweiss to me and my brothers when we were younger (mine was as follows: "Jaycearace, Jaycearace, you're my sweet little baby; you have a face, Jaycearace, you're my beautiful baby; blossom if snow may you bloom and grow, bloom and grow forever; Jaycearace, Jaycearace, you're my cute little baby" but the lyrics would change slightly over the years and anyways I tried to make it work for Michael 😌✨ I just have fond memories of that and think it's V cute)(Mahal mean love, Mahal Kita means I love you, so essentially in Mahalina's version of the song, she's singing "Micah love, Micah love...")(not Micah MY love bc that's Mahal Ko, which didn't quite fit, rhyming wise)(but I think Micah love makes sense)(and is alliterative, which Mahalina and Maahnoor Mell obviously like looooool) </p><p>MICHAEL ADN RICH ARE SO SOFT TO EACH OTHER AHDGSJJSGEJ I LOVE WRITNG THEM ASDHGDHFKKDHJH</p><p>Thank you for reading, I love you, have a nice winter holiday 💜 (I'll hopefully post again before the holidays are over, but I'm still wishing you a good time now!!! You can't stop me 😤😂💜) ~Jayce</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Burning Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:') my boys :')</p><p>I got my wisdom teeth taken from me last week and my mouth is very good at healing + not hurting bc I'm pretty chill 🙌 still sucks but hopefully I will be able to fulfill my week-long dream of eating a burger 😂😭🍔</p><p>Also!!!!!!! My birthday is coming up!!!!!!! In three weeks!!!!! (February 14 if anyone's wondering 😌✨💜) My goal is to have another chapter out before then, so cross your fingers that the writing gods will have mercy on me 🤞</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Rich. Hey, Rich!”</p><p>Rich stirred, grumpy that his visions of Michael and ferris wheels and clouds and laughter were floating away. He desperately clung to the hazy dream, but now he was being shaken lightly and the voice was still repeating his name. He cracked open an eyelid. </p><p>Jake stood over him. “Hey, buddy. You gotta wake up.” Rich rolled over. Jake sighed. “Look, I know you might not want to go to school, but winter break is coming up in, like, two weeks, so try to—”</p><p><em> Shit. School. </em>He hadn't even remembered—it was Monday morning, and, after so many weeks of doing his homework in the hospital, he was now required to return to class. His shoulders were tense and his blankets were no longer a comforting warmth, instead replaced by a suffocating anchor. </p><p>“Hey,” Jake's voice was softer, “it'll be okay. I'll be there, so will Michael, and Jeremy, and all the girls... You're not alone in this, Rich. We're all here for you, every step of the way.”</p><p>Rich shook his head, curling up tighter into himself. Everything hurt and his insides were squished together, claustrophobic within his bones, and his brain couldn't be read as thoughts whooshed by on conveyor belts too quick to decipher. All he could feel was fear and discomfort. Jake said something else, but he couldn't hear. Everything hurt—!</p><p>“Rich?”</p><p>It sounded like Michael, but it couldn't be Michael.</p><p>“Rich, I'm driving over now; breathe with me, okay?”</p><p><em> Speaker phone</em>. Michael was on speaker phone. Jake was still here, too; Rich could hear him shuffling around nervously. He tried to breathe—his lungs were shrinking and oxygen seemed unattainable. </p><p>“Rich, can you hear me?” Rich couldn't speak. “Rich?” He couldn't <em> breathe</em>. “Rich, I'm, like, ten minutes away, okay?” </p><p>Everything felt so far away. Michael said something, but Rich couldn't hear him anymore. None of his senses were working. He was going to die. He was going to <em> die</em>. </p><p>It felt like mere moments—yet, simultaneously, like hours and hours—and Michael rushed into the room. Jake left them alone, closing the door with a quiet click. Michael said something and touched his shoulder tenderly and Rich jerked away, overwhelmed and tense. </p><p>“In... And out...” A breath. </p><p>“In... Out...” Another. </p><p>“In... Out...” Again. </p><p>“In... And out...” Rich felt his lungs growing again, tentatively. </p><p>“In... Out...” His shoulders deflated, tension leaving his body, slowly, slowly, slowly. </p><p>Michael hummed softly; Rich breathed. He was alive again. He felt heavy and ached all over, but his life force had returned. It took more exertion than usual, but Rich unravelled himself, looking up at Michael sadly. Michael was smiling gently, though. </p><p>“Hi.” He cautiously pulled Rich's blanket further away from his head. “Can I touch you?” Rich nodded hesitantly. Michael put a hand on his shoulder; it didn't feel suffocating like before. “Can you talk?”</p><p>“Y-Yeah,” Rich choked out, throat dry. </p><p>“How are you feeling?” Michael asked, rubbing his hand up and down Rich's upper arm. </p><p>“I—I don't know.”</p><p>“That's okay.” Michael scooted closer. “Could you sit up for me?” Rich shook his head. “Can I <em> help </em> you sit up?” Rich paused, then nodded. Michael smiled, leaning down and wrapping his arms around Rich, pulling him into a sitting position. “How's that feel?”</p><p>“Don't let go,” Rich murmured, leaning into Michael's chest. </p><p>Michael chuckled and rubbed his back. “Okay. You need to get up eventually though.” Rich's body went rigid and Michael shifted to hug him closer. “I'm not gonna make you go to school, if you really feel like you can't. That's okay. <em> But</em>, I do want you to just get up and get ready, okay? One step at a time. That's it, that's all you need to do.”</p><p>That seemed fair—Rich nodded, relaxing again. Michael kissed the top of his head. </p><p>“I'm proud of you,” he said, arms still cocooning the smaller boy in warmth and love. Rich snuggled deeper into the embrace, letting out a sigh of contentment. “Let me know when you're ready to get up.”</p><p>“I don't want to be alone,” Rich said. Michael didn't seem to quite clue in to what he was saying. He peeled himself away, gesturing down; he was only in a t-shirt and boxers, face red. “T-to get dressed. I don't want you to leave, but...”</p><p>“I won't look,” Michael promised, kissing Rich's temple quick. “Here, I'll just scroll through instagram and you can get changed.”</p><p>Michael stayed true to his word, eyes mindlessly perusing images, never once chancing a glance at his boyfriend. Rich pulled on the same outfit as the day before; there was something about being in Michael's old sweater that made him feel safe. When he gave him the okay to look up, Michael gave him an awed smile. </p><p>“I never thought I'd be so enamoured by someone wearing my clothes,” he said, and the way his gaze drank in Rich's entire body made him feel like a work of art. He rubbed his hands on his pants, shuffling his feet awkwardly, suddenly very vulnerable. Michael reached for his hand and he allowed him to take it. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable. You just—you're beautiful.”</p><p>“Can we go eat breakfast now?” Rich blurted, unable to handle any more words of affection. Michael chuckled and nodded, allowing Rich to lead them down the hall. </p><p> </p><p>So. </p><p>Rich was at Middleborough Secondary School again. </p><p>He didn't know how Michael had talked him into it—all it took was patience and baby steps, apparently—but he regretted it now. Staring at the building that towering over him imposingly, his tight chest and sick stomach returned instantly. Jake had already hobbled inside—his first class (which resided on the opposite end of the school) being a much longer trek than usual with his legs impaired—but Michael and Rich stood together beside the PT Cruiser. Michael's hands were on Rich's shoulders, firm yet caring, and Rich was hyperventilating and staring at the pavement, unable to fathom entering the building. </p><p>“Rich,” Michael's voice was quiet, only for his ears, “we can go home if you're not okay.”</p><p>Rich couldn't speak; he shook his head rapidly. Michael's brows knit together, trying to make sense of the boy's intention. Rich wasn't sure how to convey that he <em> wanted </em>to push through this sheer terror he felt and have a sense of normalcy again, even when his insides were playing a raucous game of Twister. He tugged at the skin on his elbows, wishing he could rip the flesh away. He didn't even know why, he just wanted to pull and pull until it was gone. However, his flesh persisted. </p><p>“Do you <em> want </em> to go inside?” Rich nodded. “But you feel like there's something stopping you?” Another vigorous nod. Michael paused for a moment to think. “What if we just sat on the curb for a minute? Then you can reassess.”</p><p>“Can't be late,” Rich gasped, the words barely escaping the cacophony of wheezes he exuded as he tried to steady his breathing. </p><p>“We won't be, I promise. We still have fifteen minutes and your first class is on the first floor with me, right near our lockers.” They were crouched on the edge of the parking lot now, Michael's arm around Rich's shoulders. “I remember you were really good at science.”</p><p>“N-not me.” <em> It was the SQUIP</em>, he wanted to say. Michael understood anyways. </p><p>“Oh. That's okay. I'm decent at it, so is Brooke. You should sit with her, she's really sweet.” Rich shot him a fretful look. “I wasn't sure if you'd want to—to, uh—but, I mean, I really would love to have you sit next to me, though.” He nodded, leaning his head on Michael's shoulder with a long exhale. Michael looked down at him, breath seeming to hitch for a moment, before continuing, softly, “How are you feeling now?”</p><p>“Better than before,” Rich conceded. Michael glanced around and then pecked his cheek faster than he could react. Then, he was on his feet, holding out his hands for Rich to take. Rich shook his head fondly. “You sure know how to deal with this shit, Mell.”</p><p>Michael shrugged, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Guess after dealing with shit myself, it's easier to help other people.”</p><p>Before Rich could ask him to clarify, someone was calling their names and he was spinning to face a flurry of colourful clothing and a tackle-hug. Michael chuckled as he had the wind knocked out of him, grinning cheekily when Rich flipped him the bird. Christine Canigula was the <em> last </em> person Rich had expected to be excited by his return—they hadn't talked much, well, <em> ever</em>—but he somehow found it unsurprising. It matched her vibe. </p><p>“Rich! Oh my gosh, I'm so glad you're back! How are you feeling? Jeremy said you're such a nice person and I was so excited to meet you again after all that SQUIP stuff that happened and—”</p><p>“Chris! Let the man breathe,” Michael interjected, nudging her playfully. </p><p>“Oh! Sorry!”</p><p>“It's okay,” Rich said, letting out a wheezy laugh. “It's, uh, it's good to see you too, Christine.”</p><p>She beamed up at him. “I'm really glad you're back, Rich.”</p><p>“It's... good to be back,” he decided, subtly giving Michael's hand a quick squeeze. </p><p>“We should probably get going, Chris,” Michael said, receiving Rich's signal. “But we'll see you later.”</p><p>“Okay! Have a great day, guys!”</p><p>After she skipped away, Michael locked eyes with his boyfriend. Silently, he asked if Rich was ready. Wordlessly, Rich told him that he was. </p><p>Together, they entered the building. </p><p> </p><p>Science went better than Rich had expected. He and Michael entered ten minutes early, Mrs. Beechman welcomed him back and promised not to make him talk in class for his first week back. He sat between Michael and Brooke, who had given him a side hug and an explanation of the unit they were working on. It felt more natural than he thought it would. </p><p>Then, it was English with Michael, Chloe, and Jeremy. He sat beside Michael, with Jeremy and Chloe in the row ahead of them. Chloe welcomed him and occasionally leaned back to whisper sardonic comments. Jeremy gave him a high-five and lent him his copy of the book they were studying. His stomach began to settle and he realized that maybe he had nothing to worry about. </p><p>Now, he needed to face lunchtime. The cafeteria had never felt so overwhelming before—he couldn't fathom how he had survived it over the last three years. It was a massive space, with clangorous prattle and disorderly bustle coming from every direction. He felt simultaneously very, very small and insignificant, as well as very, very large and claustrophobic. Every noise he made was drowned in the bedlam surrounding him, yet he still felt like the centre of attention. Michael patted his shoulder encouragingly. </p><p>They headed to the former popular kids table, now reclaimed as the SQUIP Squad's. Jeremy, Christine, Jake, Chloe, and Jenna were already seated, laughing and chatting amongst themselves. Rich swallowed the anxiety billowing in his throat. </p><p>“Rich! Michael!” Jeremy waved them over, smiling brightly. “It's so great to see you!”</p><p>“Thanks,” Rich mumbled, forcing his lips upward in a nervous smile. </p><p>He sat next to him, trying to keep from accidentally touching him, and Michael sat on his other side, at the end of the row. Michael placed his hand lightly on the small of his back—a tender reminder—and began pulling out their lunch they had bought at 7Eleven, placing their respective food in front of them. Rich still curled his arms into himself, anxiety pounding in his brain, but murmured a <em> thanks </em> to his boyfriend. </p><p>“So, how's your first day back been so far?” Jenna asked, placing her phone down so she could give Rich her full attention. He felt vulnerable, only tensing his body more. </p><p>“Um... better than I thought it would be,” he said, truthfully. </p><p>He was hungry; he couldn't fathom moving an inch, though. Something in his head was screaming that he needed to stay small, keep his arms in his lap, the overwhelming feeling of anxiety eating away at his brain. The Something continued to instill this fear within him, that if he so much as brushed against Jeremy's cardigan, he would be violating something—<em>everything</em>—and Jeremy would hate him or he'd be uncomfortable or—</p><p>“Rich?” He whipped his head up to look at Michael; worry was etched across his face. “Hey, you feeling all right?”</p><p>“I just—I'm fine,” he tried, but he could tell no one believed him. Michael hesitantly took his hand under the table, rubbing his thumb over it comfortingly. Rich melted into the touch. “Um, I just—I guess I feel claustrophobic?”</p><p>“Oh. Oh, wait, what if we switched spots?” Michael suggested. “If you were on the end, instead of sandwiched between two of us, maybe you'd feel a bit less trapped?”</p><p>Rich wanted to kiss him right then and there. “Michael, you're a <em> genius</em>.”</p><p>“I know,” he joked, sliding out of his seat so that Rich could take it. Now that he didn't feel in danger of touching Jeremy accidentally, he felt his entire body relax. Michael smiled, noticing the difference. “There we go.”</p><p>“Thanks, dude,” Rich said, taking his hand under the table again. Michael squeezed it; Rich squeezed back. “Um, I appreciate it.”</p><p>“Anytime, man.” Michael sipped his slurpee, glancing around the table. Taking the subject away from Rich, he commented, “Hey, where's Brooke?”</p><p>“She's printing off her book report in the library,” Jake said. </p><p>“Did Mr. Ward lose her report <em> again</em>?” Michael asked, aghast. Jake nodded and he scoffed. “Damn. He is the fucking <em> worst</em>.”</p><p>Everyone at the table nodded along; Mr. Ward was the universally despised Social Studies teacher. His sins ranged from weird and nearly impossible mandatory extra credit assignments (which took the extra credit out of extra credit), to a long history of mispronouncing names for the duration of the semester (Rich had been referred to as Ricky for the entirety of last year), to an alleged <em> boner </em>in class (that last one was only a rumour, though many swore by its credibility). Rich felt bad for Brooke, who had apparently been victim to the man's habit of losing assignments and blaming it on his students. </p><p>“Do you remember when he called you <em> Cleo </em>all year?” Jeremy asked, glancing at Chloe. She scowled in return.</p><p>“Unfortunately, yes. Oh, and what were you? Jared or something, right?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Jeremy rolled his eyes. “That dude's <em>unreal</em>. I swear he's that teacher from that one comedy video. You know the one—<em>you done messed up,</em> <em>A A Ron</em>!”</p><p>Rich knew exactly the one and, upon remembering it, let out a <em> snort</em>. He covered his mouth and nose instantly, ashamed of such a godawful laugh. But Michael squeezed his hand encouragingly and his laugh was lost in the shuffle of everyone else's and he let himself breathe. </p><p>“You're cute.” Michael's words tickled his ears, loud enough only for him. His face flushed and he wanted to kiss him. </p><p>“Y'all sharing secrets over there?” Jake asked, teasingly. </p><p>Before Rich could turn into a stuttering mess, Michael retorted, equally as playful, “Yeah, <em> loads </em> of secrets, like the fact you're a <em> nerd</em>.”</p><p>Jake laughed and Rich was okay. He was okay and he would stay okay and school would be okay and life would be okay. As long as he had Michael, he would be okay. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, he and Michael couldn't be attached at the hip all day. His final two classes of the day (Math and Woodworking) were not shared with his boyfriend. He still had some of the others in Math (Jeremy, Jake, and Jenna, to be specific), but in Woodworking, he was absolutely alone. He remembered at the beginning of the year, when his SQUIP advised him on what courses to sign up for, saying Woodworking would help his social status and make him more appealing to girls or what-the-fuck-ever; none of that mattered to him now. He didn't even <em> enjoy </em>woodworking that much! </p><p>Michael told him to take everything one step at a time, though, so he exhaled and walked with Jake to Math class. The room was on the third floor, so Jake used his elevator pass and, despite not technically being allowed to, brought Rich along for the ride with him. They aimlessly chatted as they made the trek to class and, when they met up with Jeremy and Jenna outside the classroom door, Rich felt as though this period might be good as well. </p><p>“Dude! Bea incoming!” Jake said, grinning widely as the girl in question shyly approached them. <em> Shit</em>. </p><p>“Hi, Rich,” she said, twirling a lock of her hair flirtatiously. After two years with a computer in his brain, he was hyper-aware of other human beings' body language, especially girls being flirty or boys being aggressive. “Um, how are you feeling?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, heyyy Bea,” he said awkwardly, gripping the straps of his backpack as though they were the last thing keeping him from tumbling over a ledge. “I'm doing okay.” The air felt heavy around him; he needed to fill the silence. “Um, how about you?”</p><p>“Oh, I'm good! I'm really glad you're all right, Rich.” He leaned back when she leaned forward, and he laughed, loud and awkward. She wasn't deterred. “Do you wanna sit with me in class?”</p><p>He gave a frantic look to Jeremy, who immediately piped up, “Rich and I already kinda decided to sit together! S—uh, sorry, Bea.”</p><p>“Aw. Well, maybe next time,” she said, winking. Rich nodded, though he really<em> didn't </em> want that. </p><p>After she slipped into the classroom, Jake nudged Jeremy. “Dude! Don't be a cockblock.”</p><p>Rich shook his head. “N-No, Jeremy was just—he was helping me out. I didn't <em> want </em> to sit with her.”</p><p>“Why not? I thought you <em> liked </em> her,” Jake said, lowering his voice. Jenna raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. </p><p>“I, um—I mean, I <em> do</em>, I just—” <em> I'm bi and I have a secret boyfriend and, surprise, it's Michael Mell. </em> “She makes me nervous,” he concluded, looking down at his feet. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Whoa, bro, don't be sorry! <em> I'm </em> sorry, I shouldn't push.” He patted Rich's shoulder kindly. “Let's just get seated, yeah? I think we could probably find a pod where all four of us could sit, like, you, me, Jenna, and Jeremy.”</p><p>“Richie and the Jays,” Jenna joked, leading the way. </p><p>Rich chuckled along, but his shoulders wouldn't relax. He struggled to look Jake in the eye for the rest of class. </p><p> </p><p>Jeremy walked Rich down to his woodworking class, since his French class was on the same floor. During the trek, he said, “Sorry about Bea, man. I could tell how uncomfortable she was making you.”</p><p>Rich shrugged. “Not your fault.”</p><p>“Still.” They reached the workshop far too soon; Jeremy watched as Rich shifted on his feet, staring at the door. “Are you gonna be all right, Rich?”</p><p>His voice was low, yet Rich still felt like everyone heard. He swallowed. “Y—” He cleared his throat and tightened his grip on his backpack straps. “Yeah. Yeah, I'll be—I mean, I'll be fine.”</p><p>Jeremy gave him a benign smile and gentle clap on the back. “All right. Well, I'll see you later, dude!”</p><p>Rich nodded, unable to tear his eyes from the doorway. He could do this. He <em> could</em>. One step at a time. Just... enter the classroom. That was step one—he could worry about the rest after. </p><p>“Mr. Goranski,” the woodworking teacher, Mr. Diaz, greeted cordially, “welcome back.”</p><p>Rich managed a shaky smile. “H-Hi, Mr. Diaz...”</p><p>“You've missed a lot, unfortunately,” the teacher mused. “It'll take a lot of time and effort to catch up to the rest. If you feel that you won't be able to keep up, you might consider replacing this block with a free, and retaking the class next semester, or next year.” He shrugged. “It's up to you, though, Rich.”</p><p>“Thanks...” Rich glanced around the room; only a few other students had arrived, boredly scrolling through their phones or working on projects they hadn't yet completed. “I'll—I'll see how today goes and get back to you.”</p><p>“Sounds like a plan. Why don't you get seated? You can prepare yourself before the rest of the students arrive.”</p><p>Rich numbly obeyed, feeling his heartbeat quickening. Anxiety was creeping up on him, all too familiar, and he could tell the pain that so often accompanied it would soon follow. He sat down, hugging his backpack to his chest—it not only made the illusion of a barrier, it also gave him an anchor, something to hold, to keep him grounded in the real world. He stared at a mark on the table, not eager to meet the eyes of anyone else in the room. </p><p>
  <em> “Hey, isn't that Rich Goranski?” </em>
</p><p>He couldn't tell who made the comment—he didn't turn his head to check, either. </p><p><em> “Yeah... Jesus, look at his </em> skin<em>.” </em></p><p>Someone else had chimed in, maybe Dustin Kropp, but he couldn't be sure. </p><p>
  <em> “Ugh, disgusting.” </em>
</p><p><em> “I know, right? I can't believe some people feel </em> sorry <em> for him—he set Jake's house on fire! He's an arsonist. He doesn't deserve pity.” </em></p><p><em> “I can't believe that </em> Jake <em> feels sorry for him.” </em></p><p><em> That </em> was a new voice—a female's, with a fake French accent. </p><p>
  <em> “Yeah! I bet it's some sort of Stockholm Syndrome, right? Like, he guilted Jake into being his friend still.” </em>
</p><p><em> “I don't know if he's smart enough to do that, honestly. I overheard him talking in English this morning—” </em> (—that was <em> definitely </em> Dustin, fuck—) <em> “—and he has a fucking </em> lisp<em>!” </em></p><p><em> “Wow, did that fire make him a psycho </em> and <em> a total dunce?” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Ha, yeah. It sucks, man; I used to think he was cool. Now, he's just a loser.” </em>
</p><p>Screw this. <em> Screw! This! </em></p><p>Before he could stop himself, he stumbled to his feet and <em> ran</em>. Distantly, he could hear Mr. Diaz calling to him; he kept going. He was a loser, a psychopath, an <em> arsonist</em>! All he did was <em> hurt people</em>—he needed to get away. </p><p>No one was in the bathroom when he pushed through the door. He didn't stop moving until he was in the largest stall, pressing himself against the wall and shaking. Once the door was locked, he felt himself sink to the floor, curling into himself. He couldn't breathe, his chest was so tight, his stomach churned, and he felt like he was going to explode. </p><p>He picked at his elbows, ripping at the scabs and scars that resided there. He needed to get rid of them—he didn't even know <em> why</em>, he just needed them <em> gone</em>—so he picked and scratched and tugged until they were a bleeding mess. He didn't feel any of the pressure alleviate. He bit at the hangnails around his fingers, needing <em> something</em>—he still didn't know what. </p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>He paused his chewing. That almost sounded like—</p><p>“Rich? Are you in here?”</p><p>“M-Michael?” he choked, picking remnants of dead skin from his tongue. </p><p>Footsteps edged closer, light and slow, until finally, Rich could see chunky white sneakers in front of the stall. A quiet knock reached his ears. He wanted to cry. Instead, he stretched his arm up to unlock the door, still biting the skin on his other hand. </p><p>“Hey, Richie.” Michael was crouching to his level in an instant, worry plaguing his eyes. “Hey, hey, it's okay, baby...” Rich didn't have the coherence to react to the new pet name now, not with Michael's hands ghosting his elbows, brows furrowed. “Whoa, what happened?”</p><p>“I—I needed—I couldn't—” He couldn't find his breath; he kept nibbling his hangnails. “I don't know. I don't know.”</p><p>“Okay. That's okay.” Michael sat cross-legged, reaching for Rich's hands, steering them clear of his mouth or elbows. “Hey. I'm proud of you.”</p><p>Rich stared at him, disbelievingly. He was proud that Rich ran out of class and locked himself in a bathroom? </p><p>Michael squeezed his hands lovingly, seeing the doubt on his face. “I'm proud that you made it to school today at all. I'm proud you made it through Science, and English, and lunchtime, and Math. So what if Woodworking was a bust? You accomplished so <em> so </em> much today already.” He kissed his forehead tenderly. “I'm <em> so </em>proud of you, Rich.”</p><p>“You shouldn't be,” Rich said, hoarsely. “I'm—I'm <em> disgusting</em>, and—and stupid, and <em> psychotic</em>, and—<em>and</em>—”</p><p>“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa. <em> No</em>.” Michael tightened his grip on Rich's hands. “<em>None </em> of that is true.” He paused. “Is that why you left class? Were people saying those things about you?”</p><p>Rich chewed his lower lip, nodding. </p><p>“Well, fuck them! They don't know anything about you.” Michael knelt forward. “C'mon. Let's get out of here.”</p><p>“Wha—but—woodworking—?”</p><p>“Do you <em> want </em>to go to Woodworking?” Rich hesitated, then shook his head. Michael smiled. “Then it's settled. I'm taking you out for ice cream. Or something else, ice cream is just my go-to when I'm sad.”</p><p>Rich allowed his boyfriend to help him to his feet, getting ushered over to the sinks. Gently, Michael took a paper towel and wetted it with warm water. Before he knew it, his elbows were no longer bloody, only left with small open wounds that would surely scab over before the end of the day. Then, he pulled the sleeves of Rich's sweater down, unrolled and covering his broken skin. </p><p>“Thanks,” he mumbled, leaning his forehead on Michael's shoulder, exhaustion spreading across his body. “God, I don't deserve you, Michael Mell.”</p><p>Michael hummed, tugging Rich gingerly out of the washroom. “Yes, you do, Rich Goranski.”</p><p>“Shit.” Rich stopped in his tracks, the moment they were out the door. Michael glanced his way quizzically. “I left my bag in the workshop.”</p><p>“I got you, Richie,” Michael said instantly, squeezing his hand before letting go, scampering off to the classroom. It took less than a minute before he was back, Rich's bag loosely slung over his elbow and hand once again outstretched to take Rich's. “C'mon. The Cruiser awaits.”</p><p> </p><p>“How'd you know I was in there, anyways?” Rich asked quietly, as they sat in the Dairy Queen parking lot. He twirled his spoon through his Blizzard, still not quite calm enough to eat. </p><p>“My bathroom senses were tingling,” Michael joked. He must've realized Rich wasn't in on the joke, though, as he quickly continued, “Jeremy. His French class is across the hall and the door was open, so he saw you run. He texted me because he, quote, ‘knows that I'm the one you're most comfortable with right now.’” He put his feet up above the steering wheel, leaning back casually. “I was just in Socials anyway, so nothing more important than you.” </p><p>Rich nodded, cheeks burning. <em> Nothing more important than you. </em> Was Michael <em> trying </em>to kill him? </p><p>“Your Blizzard is gonna melt if you just stare at it all day,” Michael commented, sticking his own spoon in and stealing a bite. He grinned cheekily when Rich spluttered, looking between his ice cream and Michael's own. “What? I wanted to try. Boyfriend privileges,” he sang, blowing a kiss Rich's way. “You can try mine too, if you want.”</p><p>“Um, just one more thing,” Rich said, mind still on their conversation from the bathroom, despite his entire body seeming to be ablaze with timidity. “Um, earlier, like, in the bathroom, when you were comforting me... Um, you, uh—you called me <em> baby</em>.”</p><p>“Oh god.” Michael's face was buried in his hands faster than Rich could register. “Oh <em> god</em>, I'm sorry, Rich. It—it slipped out in the moment! I—I didn't mean—I mean, I <em> did</em>, but—”</p><p>“No, no, no,” Rich said swiftly. “No, no, Michael—<em>Michael</em>.” He was smiling now, pulling Michael's hands away from his heated face, nearly knocking over both their desserts in the process. “I—I <em> liked </em> it. I just—I didn't know if you—you—um...” His voice wavered, shrugging. “I didn't know if you really, like, <em> meant it</em>, y'know?”</p><p>Michael lurched forward, then back, as though he had wanted to kiss Rich but decided against it. “I—Jesus, Rich, I—I <em> really </em> meant it. Every word. I—You're—” He shook his head and tugged at his sleeves. “This is—you're—so <em> much</em>. I—I like you so <em> so </em>much.” When their eyes met again, Michael's showcased a tentative adoration. “If... I mean, if you're okay with pet names... Then—”</p><p>“Yes.” Rich nearly curled up and died right then at how quickly he'd agreed. At the same time, it was <em> true</em>—it was <em> so </em> true—and he needed Michael to know that. “<em>Yeah</em>. Yeah, Mikey. I'd really like that.”</p><p>They were both grinning with flushed cheeks and lovestruck eyes, and the moment Michael opened his mouth and uttered, “Rich... <em> Baby</em>,” Rich launched himself across the seats to connect their lips. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>Notes:</b><br/> <br/>Fun fact: I initially wanted to called this chapter <i>Arsonist and Old Lace</i> or something along those lines (a play on the title of an episode from the 1978 TV show <i>Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys</i>, the episode being called <i>Arson and old Lace</i>, which, in turn, was a play on the title of a 1944 movie called <i>Arsenic and Old Lace</i>, but i ended up realizing it didn't flow with my previous chapter titles so anyways)</p><p>Rich is getting so much of my anxiety oops sorry 😂😭 like, 80% of his feelings come directly from my own experience with mental illness lol but I mean, Michael would literally do anything for him apparently so 😌✨</p><p>He made it to school!!!! And his friends love him so much!!!!! They are going to all be good!! Friends!!! 😭💜</p><p>The feeling of Not Being Able To Have Physical Contact With The Person Next To You At School thing is SO real for me. I have vivid memories of being as young as 6 or 7 and just sitting as small as I could bc for some reason my brain just went NO DON'T TOUCH NO NO NO like as if my knee touched another kid's knee while we were sitting criss-cross-applesauce I'd get shanked or something ashdhsjsj I'm trying to get better with that but I still have trouble sitting too close to people (even though my love language is physical touch iDK MAN)</p><p>Mr. Ward is based off a real teacher I really had. (He also made an appearance in <i>Michael Who You Don't Know</i>, so there's that too, if you ever read that old fic of mine) Name has been changed, and some things have been exaggerated, but let me be real with you guys: he was the worst. I knew several people who would switch classes just so they wouldn't have him. I could tell so many stories, but aNYWAYS</p><p>Bea's name is taken from a real person I know!!! She is very sweet though, not that this Bea is necessarily NOT sweet, she's just being overly into Rich and he's uncomfy, but it'll all be good in the end lol<br/>ALSO her name is pronounced BAY-UH, not Bee. Just clarifying bc idk it's important to me that you know her name bc I think it's SUCH a pretty name 💜</p><p>People were scared to be mean about Rich when he was surrounded by friends (or he was just too distracted to notice/or they were quieter in their meanness) but now that it's just him?? They're not whispering as quietly anymore and he is HURTING</p><p>Oof also giving Rich my struggles with skin picking??? Damn I'm mean 😂😅 idk I just feel like ripping skin off my elbows and fingers when I'm having anxiety attacks, so 🤷 had to give it to my boy, sorry 😭</p><p>Michael is the best boyf though 😭😭😭💜💜💜 we love and STAN!!!!!! </p><p>ALSO I JUST NEEDED MICHAEL TO CALL RICH BABY I JUST NEEDED IT TO HAPPEN SO IT HAPPENED ANYWAYS THANKS FOR INDULGING ME LOL</p><p>Thank you all so much for reading!!! Like I said, I hope to get the next update out sometime before my birthday (v-day, babyyy 🎉💜😎) but I've learned from experience that I should never make promises ever bc more often than not my mental health goes NOPE 😂 Anyways, thanks for all your support and love!!!! You all mean the absolute world to me!!!!! 💜 ~Jayce</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Gentle Heat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm back 😌✨</p><p>Sorry I keep creating new BMC fics and I need to Stop 😅😂😂😂 (also been distracted by DRAWING and you can follow my art account on instagram @jaycedrawslikealot and Katie Carlson and Tiffany Mann both liked my most recent BMC drawing and I don't mean to brag but now 🎶I Know About Pop-uu-lar🎶 so 😌✨ feel free to check me out, I try to draw a lot of BMC but tbh it's mostly ocs and also my baby cousins lol)</p><p>Anyways!!!!! Heere I am and Heere we go!!!!! 🙌🎉</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So,” Michael hummed, as he and Rich sat together on the pavement, “my moms <em> really </em>want you to come over for dinner soon.”</p><p>Rich hummed in return, watching the last of the students trickle out of the school doors. It was a week after he'd first returned to school, and life seemed to have almost returned to normal. They didn't have anything to do today, Jeremy and Christine were out on a date at the bowling alley, and Jake was going to the mall with Brooke, Jenna, and Chloe, so there was no one else they needed to worry about. Michael offered up the idea of simple laissez-faire; naturally, Rich agreed. </p><p>“Like, <em> today</em>?” he asked, glancing up at his boyfriend. </p><p>“Not necessarily. Just within the next couple days.” Michael traced his fingers over the back of Rich's hand. “They don't know. Like, that we're—you know.” <em> Together </em> hung in the air between them, unspoken. “They just really like you.” </p><p>“I like them too,” Rich said, heart yearning to see Mahalina and Noor again. “I just... I'm not ready to come out to anyone yet, and I'm worried they'd be able to see right through me.”</p><p>“I get it. I think that they'll be more suspicious if you <em> didn't </em> come over, though.” Rich chuckled and Michael added, “I was thinking that we could have a sleepover too? Like, y'know, you come for dinner on Friday, then just... stay until Saturday.”</p><p>“Really?” He was trying to be less incredulous of his boyfriend's affection—emphasis on <em> trying</em>. “You'd want that?”</p><p>“Of <em> course</em>.” Michael didn't kiss him—not now, not when any of their peers could potentially see them—but he did lace their fingers together. “I... I want to spend every moment with you, as sappy as that sounds.” Michael poked his cheek when he saw the telltale signs of a blush creeping across. “You're <em> so </em> cute, baby.”</p><p>Since Rich had given the okay, Michael had taken to calling him <em> baby </em> approximately a million times a day. Not that Rich minded—though, he got progressively more flustered every time. </p><p>“This weekend?” he suggested quietly, though his eyes shone with anticipation. </p><p>“Yeah?” Michael asked, hopefully. When Rich nodded, he squeezed his hand and beamed. “Baby, this is gonna be great!”</p><p>And, watching his boyfriend's eyes light up with excitement and adoration, Rich thought that maybe it would be. </p><p> </p><p>Armed with an overnight bag and a stomach full of nerves, Rich exited the PT Cruiser to stare at the Mell House. It wasn't particularly eye-catching—just an average two story house, neutral colours, small front lawn—yet it felt foreboding and ominous, towering over him as Michael nudged him up to the front door. He was whispering reassurances to Rich the whole time, attempting to quell the boy's anxiety—Rich couldn't tell if it was working or not. </p><p>“I'll be with you the whole time,” Michael said quietly, twisting the keys in the lock, “and if it gets too much, I'll drive you back to your place, no problem. I care about you, okay?”</p><p>Rich nodded shakily. Before Michael opened the door, he planted a quick kiss on Rich's temple. He felt a little bit better after that. </p><p>“Richard! <em> Nakaligtas</em>, how are you?” Mahalina was crushing him in a hug moments after he walked through the door, and man, for a woman shorter than he was, she sure as hell had <em> strength</em>. “Ah, it is so nice to see you not in the hospital!”</p><p>“Thanks, Mahalina,” he said, leaning into the woman's embrace. “I'm...” He met Michael's eye over his mother's shoulder and felt his heart flutter. “I'm doing really well.”</p><p>“Good! I need to finish up dinner, and Maahnoor is upstairs grading papers, but why don't you and Micah head to his room to put your things away?” she suggested. </p><p>“Okay. Call us when supper's ready, <em> Nanay</em>,” Michael said, gently tugging Rich towards the basement door. Once they were headed down the steps, he chuckled. “Sorry about her. She's been so excited to see you.”</p><p>“I've missed her,” Rich said, fingers intertwining with the other boy's as they continued to his room. It was nice—an anchor to keep him from drifting into the sea of anxiety and uncertainty. “It feels weird not seeing her every day anymore.”</p><p>Michael hummed in understanding. “I knew it; this is all just a ploy to get to my mom.”</p><p>Rich giggled. “You got me! I was pulling a long con.”</p><p>“Can't fool me, Goranski. I know your games,” Michael teased, pulling Rich through the door at the bottom of the steps, leading him into his bedroom. One chaste kiss to the lips later, they were standing by Michael's bed, with the taller boy looking sheepish. “Um, so... I can set up the pullout couch, if you want.”</p><p><em> If you want. </em> Rich stared at Michael, chewing on his lower lip. <em> If you want</em>. The Filipino was rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. <em> If you want</em>. The words kept floating through Rich's mind. <em> If you want.  </em></p><p>“What's, uh... What's the other option?” he asked, hesitantly. Michael looked back at him, confused. “If, um, y'know, if hypothetically I didn't want to use the pullout...”</p><p>“Oh. Oh!” Michael swallowed, looking everywhere except Rich, fidgeting. “Uh...”</p><p>“I mean, the pullout bed is totally fine too! I just want whatever's easiest for you! But, I mean, when you said that, I was just hoping—!” Rich cut off his rambling and covered his red face. “Sorry, I shouldn't've said anything, that was stupid—”</p><p>“No! No, I just—” Michael coughed awkwardly, tugging on his sleeves. “The other option is sleeping in, um, in <em> my </em> bed. With me. But, I mean, not like—y'know, um—not, uh...” He trailed off, voice progressively raising in pitch, before finishing with, “Like, <em> literal </em> sleeping, just—just in the same bed, and, y'know, um, maybe cuddling, but I don't know, I just really like you and want to sleep with you—oh god, that's so weird and awkward, I'm sorry—!”</p><p>“Michael...” Rich took his hands, head tilted as he gazed into his boyfriend's eyes with an awed expression. “You—you'd really want that?”</p><p>“I—yeah. ‘F course.” Michael's fingers twitched, obviously aching to tug on his sleeves or neck; they stayed firmly grasped in Rich's hands, though. “You're my boyfriend. I wanna be annoyingly sappy with you. I wanna do all the cutesy, romantic shit, y'know?”</p><p>He looked like he wanted to say more—Rich leaned up and captured his lips in a firm kiss. He was grinning from ear-to-ear when he pulled away. </p><p>“Michael Mell, I want to do all the romantic shit with you, too.”</p><p>“Thank god. It'd be pretty awkward if it was just me,” Michael joked, though he was clearly flustered. </p><p>Rich, feeling invigorated, kissed Michael again, harder. The taller boy's legs hit the bed and his knees buckled, falling backwards as Rich continued to press himself closer. He could feel Michael smiling and he was smiling too and then he was on top of Michael on the bed, and—</p><p>
  <em> <code> Now gently raise her shirt, Richard... Just like that. Good boy... </code> </em>
</p><p>He jolted upward, breathing heavily and hugging himself tightly. It wasn't real—<em>it wasn't real</em>—yet the memory felt so current, so solid... He knew his eyes were glossy and he sniffed pathetically. </p><p>Michael was understandably dazed after the sudden burst of almost-but-not-quite-making-out, but he shook himself out of it as best he could when he saw Rich's expression. He propped himself up on his elbows, eyebrows furrowed in worry. </p><p>“Baby? What's wrong?” Rich just shook his head and Michael continued, “If that was too much, it's okay; I don't want you to feel pressure to do <em> anything</em>—”</p><p>“I heard it,” Rich said hoarsely, barely audible. Before Michael could freak out, he hastily added, “A memory of it, not like—I mean, when I was first—when I, um—it made me—”</p><p>Michael was fully up now, rubbing a hand comfortingly along Rich's bicep. “Take your time, Rich...”</p><p>“To be popular and liked and stuff, it told me to, uh, sleep around,” he said, not meeting his boyfriend's eyes. “I had never done, like, <em> anything </em> before then so it would, y'know, direct me. Tell me exactly what to do to make it—” <em> <code>Pleasurable. </code></em> “So—so now I'm hearing it—like, memories of it—what it used to say to me... A-and I <em> want </em> to kiss you and—and make out with you! And, like, all of that stuff, but—but I didn't <em> know</em>—I—I didn't <em> mean </em> to—” His shoulders slumped and he stared at his knees. “I'm sorry.”</p><p>“That's not a—that's not a <em> sorry </em> thing!” Michael sounded absolutely appalled, pulling the shorter boy into a tight hug. “Baby, I'm so sorry you went through that. Oh, <em> Nakaligtas</em>...” He rubbed Rich's back tenderly, murmuring something else in Tagalog that Rich couldn't understand. “<em>Mahal kita</em>... <em> Mahal na mahal kita</em>...”</p><p>Before Rich could question his foreign tongue, they heard Noor bellow from upstairs, “BOYS! TIME TO EAT!”</p><p>“Okay! We'll be up in a minute!” Michael called back, keeping Rich in the embrace for a few more moments. When he finally released him, he looked into his eyes tenderly. “Hey, are you gonna be okay? I can tell them you're not feeling well or—”</p><p>“I'm good,” Rich said, smiling shakily. He gave Michael a tentative kiss on the lips, savouring the feeling of safety he emitted. “Let's—we'll eat dinner first, then we'll talk.”</p><p>Michael looked skeptical, though he kissed his forehead lovingly either way. “Okay. But the <em> second </em> you feel uncomfortable, let me know and I'll get you out of here.”</p><p>Rich didn't deserve him. “I will. Thanks, Mikey.”</p><p>They walked upstairs holding hands, releasing their grasp only when they reached the door into the living room. Sitting on the opposite side of the dining table to Michael's parents felt far more intimidating than Rich thought it would. He knew both women and adored them—now, being their son's secret boyfriend, though? The relationship felt drastically changed. </p><p>“Rich! Oh, it's so wonderful having you in our household,” Maahnoor said, beaming at him as he scooted forward in his chair. </p><p>“It's wonderful being here,” Rich replied, giving her a shaky smile in return. “I missed you both a lot.”</p><p>“Oh, honey, we've missed you too! Tell us, how have you been adjusting in your new living conditions?”</p><p>“Um, well our place is still a little barren,” he admitted, thinking back to their small suite. “But it's been great living with Jake. Our landlords are really nice, too. They invited us up to eat pizza with them the other day.”</p><p>“Lovely! And school? How's school going, <em> Anak</em>?” Mahalina asked, before she forked some pancit into her mouth. </p><p>“Good. I mean, tough, but it's nice having Michael there. And all my other friends too!” He laughed awkwardly, picking at his food. It still looked scalding; he didn't know how any of them could bear it. “I think next semester will be better. A fresh start, y'know?”</p><p>“Of course! Completely understandable, baby.” Rich felt his cheeks heat up when Noor referred to him by the pet name Michael usually used. He knew she used it in a more motherly way, but it made his insides twist. “Do you want something else? You've hardly touched your food.” When he began to stammer, she added, “We won't be offended, sweetie. Lord knows it took Jeremy <em> years </em> before he tried any of our cooking.”</p><p>“Oh, no, I'm just, um...” He eyed the steam that rose from his plate and felt like he wanted to cry. “It just looks really hot right now and I don't, uh...”</p><p>He felt someone squeeze his left hand gently; Michael rubbed his thumb across Rich's palm, a silent message to remind him it was okay. Michael was here, Rich was okay... </p><p>“Oh, of course, <em> Nakaligtas</em>—take as long as you need,” Mahalina said, reaching across the table and giving his right hand an understanding squeeze. He felt his chest relax even further. <em> He was okay. </em> “Have your burns been irritating you very much, <em> Anak</em>?”</p><p>“Not too much,” he said. “It twinges sometimes, but nothing too bad.”</p><p>“Good, good. I'm very glad that your recovery is still going well!” Mahalina added something to Michael in Tagalog and Michael passed her what looked like a spring roll. “How is Jacob and his legs?”</p><p>“Oh, he's good,” he replied, swirling some pancit noodles around his fork. It didn't look as hot anymore and he felt bad for not eating any yet when the rest of the table were already on seconds. “He's a really chi—uh, um, a really, ah, <em> cool </em> dude, so even if he was feeling iffy, he might keep it to himself.”</p><p>“Check in on him for us, honey, okay? Both you boys sustained very severe injuries and it's important to take care of yourselves,” Noor said, leaning forward intently. “If either of you need to rest, don't let anyone make you feel weak for that. Understood?”</p><p>“Yes, ma'am,” he said, smiling. Then, after a moment of apprehension, he took the forkful of noodles into his mouth. His eyes widened. “Holy shit, that's <em> good</em>.” He glanced at the two women, covering his mouth. “Uh, sorry.”</p><p>“Honey, we have a teenage son; we're no stranger to cursing,” Noor teased. </p><p>“Thank you, <em> Anak</em>!” Mahalina said, grinning triumphantly. “I have yet to meet someone who doesn't like my pancit and lumpia!”</p><p>“This is <em> really </em> good,” he repeated. He didn't have any other words. Michael chuckled. </p><p>“You'll love what we've got for dessert, too,” Michael said, grinning widely and bumping his shoulder against Rich's playfully. </p><p>Rich smiled back. “I know I will.”</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Rich said, hovering by the bathroom door awkwardly while Michael brushed his teeth, “I think I'm ready to talk about earlier. Like, my freak-out.” Michael tried to say something with his mouth still full of toothpaste and saliva. “What?”</p><p>He spat and tried again. “Don't force yourself to talk if you still need time. I'm not going anywhere, there's no rush if you're not fully ready.”</p><p>“That's exactly why I <em> am </em> ready,” Rich said, lips twitching into a fond smile. Michael raised an eyebrow; Rich tugged him gently to the foot of the bed, where they both sat. “You're always reassuring me that you'll never judge me and you'll always be here and everything, and you've proven time and time again that it's the truth. You...” He paused for a moment to pull his thoughts together. “I trust you,” he concluded, taking Michael's hands in his own, “and I feel safe with you. I'm ready.”</p><p>Michael nodded, blinking rapidly. “Okay. I'm ready to listen, then.”</p><p>Rich inhaled deeply, and then spoke. “I want to take our relationship further. I want more than quick kisses and hand-holding; I want to make out with you, sleep with you, <em> be </em> with you. I'm not ready to be, like, <em> out </em> yet, but I want us to be more. To be <em> deeper</em>. At the same time, every other relationship I've had was controlled by that goddamn pill. It instructed my every move—it told me how to make my girlfriends feel good—it told me how to make things <em> pleasurable</em>.</p><p>“When I was on top of you earlier, I had a flashback—maybe, or something like that—of my SQUIP telling me what to do. It was saying to ‘raise her shirt’ and shit, stuff I would do with flings and one night stands... I was triggered, I think—not, like, shitty tumblr triggered, but <em> actually </em> triggered, or something—and I felt all of these weird, gross feelings flooding back. I—I really don't want to experience that again; I think I will, though. I think that it's going to happen sometimes when you and I get, uh, <em> passionate</em>.</p><p>“But, Michael, what I need you to know, right now, is that you are doing everything right. You're being, not only the perfect boyfriend, but the perfect supporter. Everything you've done for me has been overwhelming, in a good way—in the <em>best </em>way—and I don't know what I'd do without you. I want to make out with you—like, <em>really</em> <em>fucking badly</em>—but I'm also scared of having another, um, memory. </p><p>“But... I wanna be with you tonight. I wanna cuddle with you in bed and probably whisper stupid jokes until obscene hours of the morning and complain about your feet being too cold and hoard the blankets and—and <em> everything</em>. I just want everything with you. Even though I'm, like, afraid and feeling weird feelings, <em> you </em> are the one thing in the world I don't feel weird or unsure about. I dunno if that makes sense <em> at all</em>, but... yeah.” He met Michael's eyes again, after having been staring at their conjoined hands for the entirety of his speech. “Yeah. I guess that's my—my piece. Um, it's cool if you don't want to, uh, sleep together tonight, though. I get it; like, it's freaky not knowing whether your boyfriend is gonna spaz out.”</p><p>Michael took a few moments to collect himself—his eyes were glossy and Rich thought he spotted a stray tear before Michael quickly wiped it away—before responding. “Rich, baby, I want this too. But I don't want you to feel <em> pressure </em> to—I mean, I know I sound like a broken record, but if you don't feel like you can handle this right now, that's okay. You've—you've been through <em> trauma</em>, and it might take more time than you'd like to feel ready for bigger stuff, and that's okay! Um, you've met your new counsellor, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, I've had one session so far,” Rich said. “She's really nice and I think I'll be able to talk to her about a lot of stuff. Not, uh, like, um, <em> pill </em> stuff, obviously, but y'know. I can make up a story that sounds believable.” He sighed. “I need to get Jeremy and his dad, like, a gift basket or some shit—therapy's not cheap and they're helping with so much of the expenses...”</p><p>Michael smiled, squeezing his hand tightly. “Well, as you have more and more sessions, you'll start to develop tools to deal with these traumas and stuff, so soon it'll be, uh, not gone I don't think, but better? I don't fully know how it works, because, like, I'm just in high school, but it's good.”</p><p>Rich giggled, leaning into Michael's chest. Michael laughed too, holding him close. Despite the heavy topic, it felt good to talk about it with his boyfriend and feel <em> safe </em> for once in his life. He didn't have any responsibilities, just his boyfriend's warm arms. </p><p>“Can we go to sleep now?” he asked, looking up into Michael's eyes. </p><p>“Do you mean: cuddle and make each other laugh and fight for blankets and shit?” Michael shot back, with a twinkle in his eye. Rich laughed, nodding happily. Michael kissed his forehead. “Yeah, let's do it, baby.”</p><p> </p><p>It felt strange, to curl up together, a mere tangle of limbs beneath a soft duvet. Hearts beating in sync, breath slow, arms wrapped around each other... Strange, certainly, and yet so, so, absolutely <em> right</em>. </p><p>This is how life was meant to feel. </p><p>When he had the SQUIP, he had never had a <em> soft </em> relationship. He had slept around, he had surface-level girlfriends, but his longest relationship had lasted for two weeks and was almost one hundred percent physical. To have something <em> real</em>, like he did now with Michael, felt foreign and almost... rebellious. A smile tugged at his lips as he scooched closer to Michael in bed; Michael instinctually pulled him even closer, nuzzling his head into Rich's neck. </p><p>And, for once, everything about him felt truly, genuinely <em> wonderful</em>. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <b>THE NOTES ARE HERE, BABYYYYYY!!!</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Ohhhh I'm sorry about making him kinda sad but,,, I mean,,, I'm pretty sure, after having a SQUIP for, like, TWO YEARS, you'd have some PSTD, y'know? Anyways, he's going to therapy, so he'll be fine!!! Also, his trauma is probably not 100% accurate since I have not gone through similar trauma and also am not a health care professional, so I'm gonna be a bit vague, but aNYWAYS!!!</p><p>Um I love Filipino food, like fUCK IT'S ALL SO GOOD 😍 also <i>Mahal kita</i> and <i>Mahal na mahal kita</i> means <i>I love you</i> and <i>I love you so much</i>, respectively 😌✨ Michael loves him and he loves Michael but they're both too scared to say it too early bUT MICHAEL WILL SAY IT IN TAGALOG BC HE CAN'T RESIST BC HE LOVES RICH 😭😭😭😭😍😍😍💜💜💜</p><p>I love them, they're in love, they're so cute, aaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH</p><p>I don't know what else to say rn except I love you all so much!!!!!!!!! Thank you for reading!!!!! 💜💜💜 ~Jayce</p>
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